


Killing strangers

by JackValentine



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Architect!Fiore, Diore, F/F, FiBlanc, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Killer!DeBlanc, M/M, Romance, Serial Killer/Architect AU, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2018-08-18 09:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8158019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackValentine/pseuds/JackValentine
Summary: Killer/Architect Alternative Universe.Watching one particularly celestial architect becomes DeBlanc's tantalizing obsession, making him question everything he'd known before. The unexpected mutual feeling turns his life around, helping him discover a whole new side of him, and leads to... A picket-fence love story? Or a disaster? Regardless, it's a tale of human nature, of the ways it can be angelic or demonic and of our deep dark cotidian sins. "We're killing strangers so we don't kill the ones that we love" (c)





	1. Killing strangers

***  
Out of the case she goes. Stood steady on her gracious little legs - never budged a hair while aiming. Scope inclined - check. Trigger adjusted - check. Supressor on - check. The morning light tracing the spiral facets of her barrel. Some would say that hammer-forged barrels are not as accurate as cut or button rifling, oh, they would argue and deem your choices wrong. But DeBlanc loved his SSG 69. His old lady. It was worth all the fuss. Worth the struggle of acquiring a new barrel after the old one burns out - getting a new one straight from Austria, breaking but a dozen laws and screwing Аmerican gun control in the most artful ways possible in the process. Wind - moderate, North to West. Crowd density at the entrance - slightly higher than average. Nothing tragic, though. The sun hits at the mid-level of the building DeBlanc was atop of, no threat of being blinded in the nearest future.  
Laying down flat, hand resting on the stock softly. The world is round and indented with circular lines. DeBlanc believed he'd already started clicking into this position, like a correctly installed Ikea drawer. Down, then flat and push it gently - click. Slides right in. "Routine" - he thought. "Professionalism" - the patronal voice, suspiciously resembling that of Devon, corrected him in his head. He smirked at his own inner lecturing, that seemed to have been engraved into him forever by the years and years of doing the job.  
DeBlanc checked his watch once again - 9:32. His phone was silent, still. He sighed, supressing a yawn, and took a look around over the scope. The building the roof of which he happened to occupy was positioned straight in front of a huge business centre complex, the blue glass anthills towering over the city, relatively new, they seemed to slouch a little, feeling out of place. Some parts were still in construction, but the complex was full of people. Of tiny, hasty little people, excited to be in their brandnew, straight out of the oven, workplaces. Their offices felt fresh, and they were, probably, under the uplifting illusion of a new beginning. The unfinished towers were bustling with activity, too. They were caught in a cordon of cars, and trucks, delivering building materials and building people... Or people materials. They looked very similar, honestly. People just as grey as cement. Just as faceless as steel beams. The construction workers' yellow hard hats complimented the blue of the glass nicely though, making for an overall happy image.  
But what was more eye-catching, on one of the unfinished floors there was a way different group of people. Three men dressed in suits, a woman in a pencil-skirt and light blue blouse (the yellow hard hats still present). They were standing in a half-circle, around a jacketless man, wearing only a checkered dress shirt, but not the lumberjack kind; the Burberry kind. Or the Givenchy kind. DeBlanc wasn't sure. And it wasn't that it looked expensive: more like delicate. It was barely beige and served as a single splash of brightness in the endless blue-ness of the building. The shirt-clad man appeared to be an architect, showing the others present some sort of a delineation, expaining something passionately. Darn, is it mesmerizing - watching someone do their job with passion? DeBlanc found himself staring fixedly at the scene, as the rising sun was shining through that particular level, from behind the architect's back, illuminating his figure and drawing it into an aura of golden light. Soon enough, the man on the roof found himself staring not at the working bunch, but exclusively at the architect. The way his body was moving - agitated, but contained. The way he was enthusiastic to get his point across - whatever it was - it caught DeBlanc up plumb. In the wide, aureate rays of light the hard hat almost resembled a halo. And the architect was handsome, yes, he definitely was. Tall and slim, his hair either dark blonde or light brown (you can't really tell through all that glass, can you?), his face rather average, but his eyes - huge, huge ones.  
The considerate buzzing of the phone got all of DeBlanc's attention back. A secure line text. "40s" - it said.  
DeBlanc nodded to himself before looking into the scope, pointed way lower. 39, 38, 37...  
Breath in, breath out... 27, 26, 25... Breath in, breath out... 16, 15, 14... A man in an expensive brown suite rushing out of the building, two bodyguards by his side... 10, 9, 8... No breathing... 6, 5, 4... Hearh pumps the blood in, then out, and... 2, 1... Shot. Quiet muffled sound with a short jab to the shoulder. Yup, right behind his ear. That does the job. It's done. Now withdraw.

***  
DeBlanc was rolling the peas around his plate, bored and stoic, until the green racers got gradually stuck in the jaded mashed potatoes, huddled fearfully to the meat. DeBlanc's appetite was never at its peak when he was surrounded by... All the other DeBlancs. Sisters all sporting elegant cocktail dresses (all three of them), their husbands looking as if they'd just walked off of a yacht or a golfcourse. Of a golfcourse on a yacht (both, the two of them). Eli - the younger brother, the one that actually turned out normal, DeBlanc thought, - is there, too, obviously, had already given up on starting small talk with "the grumpy one". And then - Mother. The most annoying of the bunch. Annoying... That didn't seem like the right word. DeBlanc wasn't really annoyed by her, nor was he particularly fond of her. His feelings for his mother were either supressed deep down, or gone for good, ever since Lucien DeBlanc passed away, when his youngest child was 15 years old. Ever since, the paterfamilias' presence in the family life was reduced to recalling him once a year precisely and never mentioning his name. Eva only referred to him as "your father" and never talked about him for longer than 30 seconds, it seemed. Look at her go, chattering amiably with the countless uncles, unties, cousins... DeBlanc couldn't manage to recognize any of them, not a single person. How many are there? Does she grow them in test-tubes in the basement? That would explain a lot. 

\- So what have you been up to, sweetie? - the sugary voice of yet another auntie, that "remembered him when he was that little", inquired for DeBlanc's attention. The older sisters turned their heads in unison, becoming all ears.  
\- Well, - that was the bittersweet part. Sure, it was fun coming up with a new, ever-so-ridiculous answer everytime, but still sort of pathetic, - actually, I've been selling salesmen repellent.  
\- ...Repellent? - ah, that moment of confusion. Lovely.  
\- Yes, it- It's a kind of a system, resembling a security system. But it indicates salesmen and... And...  
\- Repels them, - the youngest sister, Lilith, added with an impish smirk.

DeBlanc smiled at the kid softly. It'd always seemed to him like Lilith was most like him. Still from a whole different planet, but most like his actual relative, even though they had different fathers. She wasn't as judgemental of him as the rest, at least. Ala, the oldest one, was exactly like mother. Kali was all about trying to be like Ala, trying to catch up, getting to everyone around her: her gardener to learn topiary as good as Ala's, her hairdresser to make the highlights is her hair as natural and "sun-kissed" as Ala's, her husband even - to find a position as prestigious. And to "keep his elbows off the table, for Christ's sake"! Eli was the golden one. The son that came out right on the second attempt. He knew it, and he knew it well, and had already learned to use it to his advantage. Lilith, however - Lilith was different. She was way more fun, the oldest male DeBlanc of the clan thought. Or maybe it was just her rebellious stage. Maybe she'd grow out of it. 

\- Repels them. Exactly, - he said, shifting his sight from Lilith's pretty smirking face to the auntie's puzzled expression.  
\- Oh. That's great, sweetie. 

DeBlanc cackled quietly. Sure, definitely better than his reptile travel agency from last month. Or his tissue recycling plant from the month before that.

***  
Lines, lines, soft lines upon straight lines, intertwining and dancing, speaking to him. The magic happens, out of nothing it is born. Upon the virgin white knobby surface, it rises, like a phoenix out of the ashes, out of the sleepless nights and something resembling of... Inspiration? He wasn't sure, yet there was something surreal in the way that the tower was growing day to day under his heedful guidence, in the way that something seemed to be speaking to him from above through the movement of his hand, as his caffeinated brain drifted away in a hypnotized seizure that were those rows of sleepless nights in which he... Created. Accompanied by the rustling melody of the tip of his pencil caressing the paper he...  
Fiore jerked and his eyes swished wide open. The tip of the rod of his mechanical pencil broke off. Fiore clicked it a couple of times - nothing. He reached for the tiny plastic case for a new one - empty. He was definitely out of the pencil rods. When did that happen? Fiore looked back at the draft. What was now in front of his eyes was almost the finished project. He then looked at the clock on the wall. Almost 5 a.m. Well, considering that he'd started about 8 hours ago with nothing and hadn't taken a single break since, running out of stuff to sketch with did seem believable.  
His head suddenly felt empty and heavy, a cramp pierced through his right hand. Fiore found himself overwhelmed with all the exhaustion that a human being would normally feel after working for that long.  
"I'll take it as a sign that I should probably go to bed now", - he thought to himself before turning his table-lamp off and collapsing onto the bed, weighed down with long-awaited slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ala is a female mythological creature recorded in the folklore of Bulgarians, Macedonians, and Serbs. Ale are considered demons of bad weather whose main purpose is to lead hail-producing thunderclouds.
> 
> In Hinduism, Kali (from a root kad, "suffer, grieve, hurt; confound, confuse") is the the 10th and final Avatar of the Hindu God Vishnu and is portrayed as a demon.
> 
> Eligos presents himself as a handsome horseman carrying a lance, a standard, or a scepter. He commands sixty legions & is a grand duke of hell.
> 
> Lilith - appears as a night demon in Jewish lore and as a screech owl in Isaiah 34:14 in the King James version of the Bible. In later folklore, "Lilith" is the name for Adam's first wife.
> 
> Eva was a mysterious and powerful being known by the title of Mother of All. She was in the depths of Purgatory, until she was released by dragons and arrived on Earth using a young virgin girl as a vessel. (Supernatural, TV series)


	2. We've got obsessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DeBlanc slowly becomes obsessed with stalking the architect... What is this madness?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You never told me what it was that made you strong   
> or what it was that made you weak ©

***  
The view was slightly different, shifted to the right a little bit. For the better, as that particular tower was now to the fore.   
DeBlanc was looking into his binoculars, kicking himself for every moment of what he was doing. What an idiot, he thought, coming back to almost the exact spot less than two weeks after the deed. However, for whatever reason, he just couldn't hold himself back. He felt like a schoolboy spying on his stupid friends off of his stupid treehouse, he felt pathetic and ridiculous, but DeBlanc just couldn't help but let himself indulge in the odd pleasure of coming back, for the first time in his... Career.  
The architect wasn't as glowing now. Or, maybe, it was just the light? This time DeBlanc arrived at about noon, so the celestial feel that the rising sun had provided last time certainly wasn't there. But DeBlanc didn't even bother to recall the golden lighting, no, it wasn't that. The architect appeared tired. Or maybe it was just that the adrenaline rush of the moment had painted the world brighter colors for DeBlanc that day?.. No, wasn't that either. The architect was wearing a plain grey shirt this time, and it brought out the dark circles under his eyes even more. Still, the man on (another) roof couldn't take his eyes off him. DeBlanc scowled, disgusted by his childish decision to come back, and jumped up, as if the roof had unexpectedly heated up. He stormed off without looking back.

***  
Two days. For two days he'd stayed home manfully. Then Wednesday came around, and DeBlanc grabbed his binoculars again. "I'll just see if he looks as bland as he did last time", - he thought. "I'll go to another building, there's an abandoned construction site nearby", - he thought, as his hand was already on the knob of his front door. 

***  
DeBlanc came back again. And then again. Watching the architect became his guilty pleasure, for a reason unknown even to the bearer of the head that the whole twisted idea was born in. Every time he came, he would lay there, watching, making assumptions about the stranger's life. "Look at him, - DeBlanc thought to himself, - you betcha he loves his shitty little formal job. Mother would love me to be there, in that ugly blue tower, instead of this grotty fucking roof, right now, huh". That moment, he grasped the binoculars white-knuckled. He hated the architect. Hated him for being so picket-fence, so picture-perfect.   
Other times, DeBlanc would just stare blankly. Stare at the way that the architect's hands danced across the paper, at the way that his shoulders would tense up when he'd grab the draft and lift it up, examining it thoroughly.  
Every time that he'd come back to that roof, every inch of his brain that DeBlanc would give up to his new-found little madness, his mind would take him farther and deeper down. He would look at the architects face through the binoculars, studying the way that he squinted his eyes sometimes, they were blue, definitely blue, exactly the color of this stupid glass tower. The way that his jaw would move every time he'd stopped and froze for a moment, dissatisfied. The way that he pursed his lips in the moments of concentration... DeBlanc dropped the binoculars and hid his face in the bend of his arm, in pain almost, when the thought crossed his mind: how unimaginably delightful would it be to devour those thin, red lips with a belligerent kiss.   
Oh how hard DeBlanc would try to suppress those thoughts, he would've even stopped coming back to the familiar spot, if only, if only he could. Lord knows, he tried. But no one knows when the barrier wore thin and DeBlanc would come back just to watch the architect work as his dark, filthy mind would be unchained completely.   
Oh, how lovely would it be, he thought, to have this orderly, good-boy architect against the wall, to have his thin, aristocratic fingers dig into DeBlanc's shoulders in sweet, sweet pain. Oh, do you like that? You betcha you do, atta boy...  
Oh how delicious must his moans and whimpers sound when he'd shudder with DeBlanc's dick inside of him, fucking him so hard, so hard he cries and begs for more...  
Then DeBlanc would just go home, and punch things, and break stuff. He hated... Himself. That's right. So pathetic. A pathetic little pervert, a freak watching an unsuspecting all-square citizen. But he would come back again and again.  
What if- What if, - he thought, - What if they did, in fact, fuck? Oh wouldn't it be fun? The only thing more fun would be bringing him home... To DeBlanc's parents' home. Oh that's right, that would be a trick way bigger than some stupid salesmen repellent. What a pretty little picture in a pretty perfect frame that would be. An architect... A successful architect, that must be. And DeBlanc, himself, something, uh... Something solid, a lawyer? Too old-fashioned. An insurance agent? Not cool enought. Something more... More like... Consulting agent? That sounds about right. Consulting is one of those big scary words (among "financial analysis", "brandmanagement" and "initial public offering") that get the best reception at the family table. They get the uncles raising their brows respectfully and the unties nodding with a serious expression on their face. Those words arise no further questions, everyone just looks at you like you made it in life. Like you deserve to carry their surname. Oh what a perfect textbook family... Except for, oh wait, the oldest male DeBlanc brought a man home! That would be the full package. What a perfect family disappointment.   
But these thoughts were just for fun, while the real issue wasn't fun at all. DeBlanc found himself chained to that one spot on the roof of the gloomy skeleton of a building that was never meant to be. He would spend hours just... Looking. Every time he went home, every time he closed his eyes, all he could think of was the architect. Up until, once, the man on the roof saw the architect put away the drafts at his wake, intending to leave. DeBlanc jumped up, transported with whatever exacerbation that was triggered, and ran storming down the stairs, his binoculars left there, on the grey roof, all covered in concrete dust and pieces of plaster.


	3. Damned if I do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two finally see each other face to face.

***  
Dusty corridor, empty, protective film still on the glass screens. Surprisingly, it wasn't that blue in there. DeBlanc rushed to the dark wenge wood door, his second door, actually. Years of experience, and he went for the wrong door initially. "A clear sign shit's falling to pieces", - he thought, but there wasn't time to mourn that amateur mistake. There still was the second option, and the dark brown rectangle was just about two steps away, DeBlanc reached out for the knob...  
The door flung open. The two men nearly ran into each other, stepping away simultaneously in an almost cartoonish manner. DeBlanc suppressed another ragged breath and took a step back, finally looking up at the architect, up close. "So tall", - was the first thing to cross his mind. "His eyes are indeed blue", - was the second thing, which was no surprise, since the baby blues were looking fixedly at DeBlanc, wide open in surprise.   
The architect was indeed taller than DeBlanc had expected him to be. He was wearing a plain white dress shirt with jeans, his medium-blond hair ruffled slightly; he looked funny and somewhat endearing in his moment of mild astonishment. The other man couldn't bother to end the awkward, as he was feasting his eyes on the architect without shame.   
Fiore opened his mouth and closed it, then opened it again.

\- Can I help you? - He suggested politely. 

One heartbeat. Another. There still was no reply, the weird man in a black long-sleeved t-shirt and dusty dark-grey jeans was just standing there, scanning Fiore, his dark brown eyes almost groping him in a glaringly vulgar manner, but not lubriciously, somehow. The man was short, but well-built, that was evident, even though the clothes he was wearing were mostly baggy. There was something about his face, something that would have made him - the look in his eyes, the way he was presenting himself - scary. But he wasn't. There was something mild and tame in the way that he was eyeing Fiore, almost... Admiringly?   
...Since there was no reply, Fiore tried again. 

\- This building is still under construction, and you have no badge, so you must've... Just, wandered in, I suppose? - Warm brown eyes, somewhat edgy, a playful spark in them, silence, - Maybe, I can help with directions?   
\- I, um, - finally, the awkward silence was broken, - I was, actually, um... - DeBlanc's brain was rushing to find an excuse, a reason, something! Apparently, he didn't think this through fully while running down the stairs, and then up another set of stairs. So the exhausted, batty mind suggested the easiest way out, - I, uh, forgot where I was heading. Completely. 

The line was delivered with such a charming, foxy smile, that it was clear that the man was lying. Not sneakily, however, but rather jokingly. Fiore was unsure of how to react to such spectacle, so he just waited for the stranger to say something else.   
Stymied, DeBlanc continued.

\- Yeah, I, hah, forgot where I was heading. But- but, would you mind showing me the way to the nearest coffee shop in the meanwhile? - pause, - While I try and recollect? - He added with a pawky smirk. 

DeBlanc was smiling, because the architect was looking at him surprised, but intrigued, a half-smile on his slightly opened lips.   
Fiore found himself puzzled. The voice of the man was soft, and the way that he smiled, the way that he talked was so relaxed and imposing, it was captivating. And Fiore knew that the man in black must've noticed how Fiore was oddly attracted to all of that. The architect couldn't help but picture his last boyfriend that he broke up with about three years ago, who, coincidentally, was bald, too. But the man standing in front of him was way different. There was a certain element of masculinity about this stranger, something animalistic almost; deeply biological and something Fiore couldn't rationalize within himself.

\- ...Can you help me with that? - DeBlanc added with a soft half-smile, with a tinge of guilt in it. 

Boom. It's done. DeBlanc knew he'd won. So many times he'd seen this exact look on so many pretty faces. So many times long lashes, heavily coated with mascara, were left trembling shyly at his wake. So many plump, red mouths were left gasping. DeBlanc wasn't surprised. Just... Didn't think it would work this time. Given the one distinct peculiarity of the case... 

\- Sure, - Fiore blurted out, before the little voice of reason in his head could stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fiore is just plunging headlong into it, lol, I know


	4. Cold coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DeBlanc couldn't help it. He hated pretentious people with pretentious names. He couldn't tell if... Fiore was pretentious yet, but was ready to find out that he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's like cold coffee in the morning  
> I'm drunk off last night’s whisky and coke  
> He'll make me shiver without warning  
> And make me laugh as if I'm in on the joke ©

***   
Fiore was mostly looking at the foam of his flat white throughout the whole process of grabbing it from the counter, crossing the central area of the coffee shop, packed with tables and chairs, and cheerfully chattering people, and sitting down. Whenever he'd catch the sight of his unlikely company (which was unlikely as is, having company going for a cup of, especially such company, all around weird, didn't say a word in the 3 minutes they'd been walking to the coffee shop) he squeezed out a tense smile and looked back down. At last, the stranger decided to be the bigger man.

\- So... What's your name? - he asked flatly, without any emotion, it seemed, only the way that he was lightly pushing his paper cup of espresso around his side of the tiny table suggesting that he was somewhat agitated.  
\- It's Fiore, - said Fiore, with a sheepish little smirk. His name was unusual, he knew it, and every time he would introduce himself, people would start digging and wondering.   
\- Fiore? What kind of a name is that, - the man fuffed and took a sip of his coffee, a pawky look on his face, but not the soft and friendly kind the architect had seen before that, the irritated kind. 

DeBlanc couldn't help it. He hated pretentious people with pretentious names. He couldn't tell if... Fiore was pretentious yet, but was ready to find out that he was. Because, come on, flat white? Coffee choices don't get any more posh than that.   
An expression of something of a mixture of offense and unpleasant surprise dawned upon Fiore's face. He certainly didn't expect such a harsh response. And why would he? What did he do to irritate anyone anyway? Or was the man really irritated? Maybe those were just Fiore's distorted perception of what had happened? Anyhow, the architect thought not all hope was lost and decided to carry on with the conversation. 

\- It's, um... It's Italian, actually. My father's half-Italian. Fiorenzo, that's the full name - it originates from Latin, from a verb that means "to flourish" or, you know, "to bloom", things of that kind. It was, in fact, adopted during the Roman era...  
\- Must be a peculiar guy, - DeBlanc cut him off, Fiore now looking at him interrogatively, - Your dad, - he stumbled over the word, initially intending to say "daddy", but that sounded too vulgar even for DeBlanc. Then again, DeBlanc thought he would prefer Fiore calling him that rather than his actual father.

Fiore, however, didn't seem to notice the scorn in his interlocutor's voice, or the hunted smirk on his face. And it was hunted, DeBlanc would always find himself like prey among... Those people. But the architect sounded calm and distant as he replied. 

\- Yeah, - pause, - he went missing about three years ago.

The air in the room collapsed the way that it does when you realize you shouldn't have said something. For DeBlanc, the coffee shop went silent, suddenly, time froze. All he could think was that he lost it all before he could even have it. He gathered up all of his guts and looked up at Fiore and found, to his surprise, there wasn't hostility in his expression, he seemed well collected, but sad, the kind of helpless sad, the sad that one feels when they've given up. 

\- I'm sorry, - said DeBlanc quietly, - the heavy pause was still there, - that's horrible. I shouldn't have said that, - he added under his breath.   
\- It's alright, - Fiore responded, making DeBlanc look back up at him with the sound of his voice coming through, - You didn't know. 

Encouraged, DeBlanc opened his mouth again, driven by the sudden belief that not everything was lost, that he can somehow make up for it, but by the way that Fiore looked at him softly, he realized it would be better to just leave it, so he confined to a guilty little smile. 

\- Anyway, what's yours?  
\- My... My what? - DeBlanc was somehow taken off guard with the simple question.  
\- Your name, - Fiore chuckled and took a sip of his coffee.   
\- Oh, haha, - DeBlanc laughed tensely and lowered his eyes, his palm rubbing his neck thoughtlessly, - it's, um, it's James.   
\- That's a nice name, - Fiore reacted, with a kind and encouraging (for whatever reason) expression. 

DeBlanc smiled again. "No, it's not, - he thought, - could'a came up with something better than that". 

\- What do you do? For a living, I mean. 

Fiore felt the need to clarify, as his companion seemed to be flustered (which was rather flattering) and, as a result, couldn't seem to grasp the short questions. There was this obvious interest and agitation on the other man's part, Fiore concluded, and he liked it. The discomfort was suddenly gone and Fiore was watching him admiringly yet again, the way that he smiled softly, that his warm brown eyes glanced at Fiore every now and then, his big hands gripping the paper cup a bit too tightly, his muscular shoulders a bit tense under his t-shirt as he leaned on the table... Fiore realized he wasn't paying attention and shook it off. 

\- I work in a consulting company, - he replied.   
\- That's interesting, huh, - Fiore said, making the effort to be a descent person to talk to and actually keep the conversation going rather than just staring at the other man with his mouth open.   
\- No, not really, - DeBlanc retorted with a friendly smile.  
\- No?  
\- I mean, yes, it is curious, but you need to do 50 boring things to get to the one amusing thing.  
\- Ah, I see, - Fiore nodded.  
\- So yeah, it'll be far more exciting if you take it from here. What do you do?   
\- I'm an architect, actually.  
\- Oh, - DeBlanc gestured in the direction that the blue towers (probably) were, - there? - he wondered as inconspicuously as he possibly could.   
\- Yes, there, - Fiore confirmed with a smile.   
\- Did you design these towers?  
\- Yeah, um, I mean, not all by myself for sure, but the facade, yes, I designed it, and the structure system, you know...

Fiore started rambling, as DeBlanc watched him, amused. He didn't expect the architect to be so weirdly humble. DeBlanc had seen him work and the way that he did his job looked anything but humble, the way he explained the projects to the suit-clad people, his body language was confident and substantive. Maybe he just acts differently when he's immersed in his work? Or maybe it's DeBlanc who's to blame for that apparent shyness?.. 

\- They're beautiful, - DeBlanc cut Fiore off carefully. 

Fiore was suddenly silent and looked like he'd stopped to reflect on what he'd just heard. 

\- Really? - he asked. And that was an actual "really" requiring an actual answer for sure.   
\- Yeah, - DeBlanc reassured him and nodded, - the structure seems weightless, yet dynamic. It's remarkable. Reminds me of Frank Lloyd Wright's skyscraper projects.

Fiore's face lit up. Even his body language was different now, his back a bit more straightened, his arms a bit tense in agitation.

\- Actually, - he exclaimed in a higher voice, - his ideas about bringing more light into tall buildings to make them seem more lightweight kind of inspired me, and his project of this skyscraper held up by a, a, um, a pole, so to speak, made me think... Oh it's better if I show you!

Fiore took a napkin from the little pile on the table, formed by the spare napkins that we always grab greedily at the counter in coffee shops. A shiny silver mechanical pencil appeared in his hand magically, and he started drawing a flower-like structure, narrating everything he did and explaining every new detail he added to the sketch, looking up and into DeBlanc's eyes every now and then to make sure he was following. And DeBlanc was listening, you bet he was, but also watching, watching Fiore's lashes fly up and down as he looked up at DeBlanc, and then back down at the napkin, and back up at him. DeBlanc forgot his coffee completely, as what was right there, right before his eyes, was way more seductive. Fiore was glowing. Once again DeBlanc caught himself thinking how much he'd love that smile against his mouth. And those arms around him, those fingers digging into his back as he would...  
The pencil rod was rustling upon the uncustomary surface, the napkin tearing slightly where Fiore went over a line or a shape twice, a wide smile on his face, poorly hidden excitement in his voice growing stronger as every time he looked up he saw the other man engaged and attentive, so he talked and talked and talked. In between the strokes of his pencil, Fiore caught himself thinking - he was having a great time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fiorenzo - derived from the Latin "florentius", participle of the verb "florere" ("fiorere" in Italian) meaning "to bloom"/"to flourish" and adopted during the Roman era as a name meaning "good wishes".


	5. I'll follow you down down down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiore felt like a 10-year-old boy who'd disobeyed his father's mandate (which he never did as a child. And as an adult, too, as a matter of fact). Like he'd brought the neighbor boy he'd just met in the sandbox home, and their sneakers are all covered in dirt and grass, and they're about to leave some nasty footprints on his Father's favorite white carpet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I want it so bad   
> I put the sunshine into my veins ©

***  
...And they talked. All the way throughout the short walk through the city, they talked about architecture and art, politics and history, and silently agreed not to talk about family anymore. So when they got to Fiore's place, stymied with the harsh reality of reaching the destination, it was only natural to invite DeBlanc in.  
Except for it wasn't. You shouldn't invite strangers into your house. Fiore felt like a 10-year-old boy who'd disobeyed his father's mandate (which he never did as a child. And as an adult, too, as a matter of fact). Like he'd brought the neighbor boy he'd just met in the sandbox home, and their sneakers are all covered in dirt and grass, and they're about to leave some nasty footprints on his Father's favorite white carpet.   
Fiore took his shoes off and stood back up.

\- So that's... - he started shyly, so awkward, he thought, - that's where I-

But he didn't get the chance to finish. In a heartbeat Fiore found himself against the wall of the hallway, swooshed and grabbed so abruptly that the little table with all the keys, post-its and other stuff shook with a loud dingling sound. His hands up in the air in an ungainly manner, as if he was to surrender, Fiore was taken by surprise, but the other man's mouth was upon his own, that - that he was sure of.   
DeBlanc's hand on the back of Fiore's neck, the thumb touching his cheek, pulling him down slightly, the height difference not letting him go at it properly. His other arm, though, was secure on the small of Fiore's back. It slid down lower, his big palm gripping one half of the architect's ass. DeBlanc broke the kiss but for a second and sighed softly before squeezing Fiore's buttock with such gusto it was almost an art. So before Fiore knew, his arms were wrapped tightly around DeBlanc's neck in the messy stratagem of limbs, and when the warm overbearing hand traveled down onto his thigh and pulled it up, Fiore's knee went up the other man's side oh so willingly in a vulgarly ready gesture.  
Going for it, DeBlanc had expected anything to happen. Anything but that. Anything but that agreeable surrender. His hands traveling up and down Fiore's body, gripping and grabbing at every part, clothes being the odd one there for sure, he fumbled at the architect's shirt and pulled it up, pulling the neatly tucked edge out of his jeans and placing his palm upon the sensitive skin just above the hip, he felt goosebumps run a quick wave down Fiore's torso. Through the sound of the fabric grinding against fabric, Fiore's tense groin going up and down DeBlanc's hip unconsciously in short, fitful motions, DeBlanc could hear a soft barely-there whimper against his neck, Fiore's brows furrowed. Fiore's thoughts were all over the place, the uneasiness, the shame all overrun by an insane bout of arousal, it was burning between his legs where his jeans were suddenly one size too small and he could feel the solid body of the other man against it, and he couldn't help but rasp up and down.   
DeBlanc ruffled the architect's dress shirt further up, his hot fingers now sliding up the skinny sides, he could feel Fiore shake and tremble under his touch, just- just the way he'd imagined, yes, it was just like that. His movements slowed down - he was sure the other man wanted it as much as he did. His knacky hands were studying every inch of Fiore's torso, the shirt then flying up above his head and landing somewhere behind him with a soft flop. He was stroking the smooth, pale skin, and after the short, but excruciating (for both men) journey his fingertips reached the pink, hard nipples of the architect and the gentle thumbs brushed against them ever so slightly in the two half-circular teasing swipes, a smug grin on DeBlanc's face, the only reaction on Fiore's part being a constrained shudder and another whimper, now louder. They weren't kissing anymore, they were standing there, Fiore with his back against the wall, his one leg around the shorter man's hip, his arms wrapped tightly around DeBlanc, DeBlanc's palms upon Fiore's naked upper body, there was a pause, yet DeBlanc could certainly feel the architect's fingers digging into his taut, muscular shoulders. Fiore gathered up the courage and looked up and straight into the other man's eyes, right in front of his face. They were brown and warm like melted chocolate, but they seemed darker now, as DeBlanc was looking him back in the eye with that deep, profound desire and admiration, DeBlanc's hands still upon Fiore's trembling body. He wasn't there to get what he wanted, to conquer and plunder, no. For a second the architect thought that it seemed like the man was willing to give just as much as he was willing to take.   
Fiore gasped for air and freed from the tangled embrace softly, the scare passing quick for DeBlanc, as he immediately found Fiore's hand grabbing the sleeve of his shirt, leading him up the stairs and to the open door where there was a wide bed with white sheets. And they tumbled in, DeBlanc, impatient, grabbing Fiore by the belt of his jeans and undoing them, frantically eager to get the clothes out of the picture. Reckless and delirious, they were peeling the clothes off of each other. When Fiore was finally brave enough to get his hands on DeBlanc, he admired the other man's bouncy, tense muscles with his every touch and his every caress.   
One step, another, drop - there's the bed, DeBlanc overhanging above Fiore, Fiore's grip stiff on his shoulders as DeBlanc's strong arms dragged him further and up, and the architect's legs were wrapped around the hips of the man he didn't know in the morning. For a second Fiore's orderly nature acted up, and he swayed to the side and reached into the nightstand drawer. "How old is this condom?" - the thought swooshed through his head - "It's been so long', - he thought guiltily, up until DeBlanc took the rubber out of his hand and opened the package with his teeth, his free hand placing Fiore's thigh upon his own in the meanwhile. For the first time throughout this whole delirium really Fiore took the time to look at his unlikely partner - fit, all covered in lean muscles, sweaty and panting with desire, his masculine palm upon the architect's skinny leg, he's got a bit of a stubble (which looks so good on him), and his eyes...   
The condom was on and DeBlanc looked up abruptly, his accidental gaze smashing into a pair of blue eyes enframed by long blonde eyelashes. There was a pause again just for a second before he cupped Fiore's face with his both hands and pulled him in for a rough, desperate kiss, his tongue jamming into the architect's mouth like it was his last moment on Earth. The kiss broke as abruptly as it had started as DeBlanc, his voice hoarse, asked: "Ready?"  
Fiore nodded, his nod distorting into a shiver, accompanied by a short outcry. Fiore didn't quite have the time to assess what he was about to take, but that was a sensation of being filled up to the bottom, in all senses of it. He could feel the large stone-hard cock inside of him, and, before he could adjust, DeBlanc re-established his grip on Fiore's thighs and thrust in further, and then back again and even harder in, faster with every thrust. Fiore couldn't hold back his groans as he was all at the mercy of the beautiful stranger who was fucking him mercilessly, the pace steadily fast, DeBlanc's balls slapping against Fiore's ass and the headboard of the bed hitting repeatedly on the wall, setting the rhythm of the heated sex. Strong arms holding Fiore up, DeBlanc's grasp on his butt assertive and overbearing. DeBlanc's clouded gaze fixed on Fiore: his eyes shut tight, a grimace of pleasure on his good-looking face, drops of sweat on his temples. His body pale and lanky, Fiore was all wrapped around his partner, melting into him, clinging onto him tight, his legs spread wide to the sides awkwardly, his whole weight on the other man. The thought in itself that Fiore was so responsive and amenable in his arms turned DeBlanc on madly, so it took real effort to make this delightful torture of being on the edge linger, as the friction and the tightness of Fiore, combined with the fervency that Fiore was giving it to him with drove him absolutely crazy. He was overwhelmed, unable to fully process that Fiore gave him just as much ardor and eagerness as he'd stored up for weeks, tortured by fantasies and haunted by wet dreams.   
DeBlanc inside him and DeBlanc around him, the gingery smell of his sweat, his ragged breath upon Fiore's hot skin. In between occasional hasty kisses, DeBlanc's hand buried in the hair on Fiore's nape, tugging at it, Fiore heard: "You're a good boy, huh? Good boy... You like it when daddy does that, huh, you like it there? - in turn with hoarse pants and grunts, - You like that huh, you like my dick in you like that?" Fiore did, in fact, love it like that, DeBlanc was rough and his hard thrusts were pounding Fiore's sweet spot every single time. And all Fiore could do between the loud moans escaping his body, all he wanted to do out of anything in the world was whisper "yes, yes, yes, yes, yes" until he was out of breath, until his lungs deflated - "yes, yes, please, more, please..."  
A piteous yet desperate moan filled the room as Fiore came in one lingering fitful spasm, a drawn-out orgasm gyving him, all the force leaving his body at once, he felt light-headed and weightless... But DeBlanc held his body in place, his white-knuckled grip leaving bruises on Fiore's thigh and ass under his fingertips, one more thrust, another, and DeBlanc came, his short, low grunt being the sexiest thing Fiore's ever heard in his entire life. They collapsed onto the crumpled covers next to each other, both drained and out of breath.   
The room seemed very quiet. Fiore could hear the sound of the clock on the wall - tick, tock, tick... He could feel the other man breathing heavily next to him. Fiore's heart was slowly but surely going back to its usual pace. What looked thrilling a tad more than half an hour ago now felt shameful and weird. "What do I do now", - Fiore almost thought, before the low velvetine voice interrupted. 

\- I lied to you.   
\- What? - Fiore breathed out, more confused than anything. He sat up, leaning on his elbow, a questioning look on his flustered face.  
\- The name, - the other man responded, rather irritated, not even bothering to look at Fiore, - It's not James. It's Dom.   
\- Dom? - Fiore repeated in a distant tone, still not really sure of what was going on.   
\- Yes, - it was now obvious that the stranger was mildly irritated for sure, - Dominic. Dom. People call me DeBlanc, you can call me that, - he added in a less confident voice. 

Fiore was now terrified. Not only did he bring a stranger home, he brought someone completely unknown and extraneous. Not knowing what to do, he lay back down. Fiore glanced at the clock - almost 11 p.m. His mind racing frantically, his heartbeat still fast, he was confused and scared but mostly - engrossingly, disgustingly tired. So what he did was the one thing that he knew he shouldn't do - passed out asleep. Next to a complete stranger, in his own bed. Naked and unprotected, yet somehow incongruously calm.   
DeBlanc had to do a double take to make sure Fiore was actually asleep, leaving DeBlanc even more puzzled and conflicted than before. After a moment of hesitation, DeBlanc negotiated through the house and into the bathroom. He cleaned himself up and then proceeded to wet a towel with some warm water, then wiping the peacefully sleeping Fiore clean, too. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the architect, hoping he'd wake up and pitch something, anything for DeBlanc to work with as to what to do next. After some minutes DeBlanc decided that laying down for a moment would do no harm. His exhausted body agreed, drifting away into the so much needed slumber, before the man could somehow resist. 

***  
Lilith was in her bed, awake, the marquee of the blanket above her head, illuminated with the light of the display. She used to spend her sleepless nights like that when she was a child. Mother would insist that she go to bed at 10 p.m. precisely, and Lilith would smile and grab a book sneakily, her tiny flashlight always under her pillow. She would discover the magical world of Tolkien, the existential fantasies of Lovecraft and swallow up the scary King mysteries that Mother deemed "too soon" for Lilith to read, but she would take them out of the library under her pajamas and read them anyway. The roof of her blanket chamber was the starry sky, and her flashlight was the moon, and she was someone else, somewhere else, conquering and exploring.   
She wasn't a child anymore. In front of her face was that one blue iMessage that she was yanking up and down, nervous. Her stomach full of butterflies and that peculiar uneasiness that we feel when we just start talking to that particular someone. Alex replied. Technically, she was talking to Alex. In the middle of the night, two days after they met. "Isn't that surreal", - she thought, still twitching her thumb up and down the display, trying to come up with what her next move should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dominic - from the late Latin name Dominicus, meaning "of the Lord". This name was traditionally given to a child born on Sunday.


	6. Boycott love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DeBlanc forced his eyes open, as someone was shaking his shoulder gently for a while now. The first thing he saw was the architect's face right in front of his, overhanging above him, his hair messy and his silhouette illuminated with the washy morning light, shining from behind, which reminded DeBlanc vaguely of a halo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So boycott love  
> Detox just to retox  
> And I'd promise you anything for another shot at life (c)

***  
DeBlanc forced his eyes open, as someone was shaking his shoulder gently for a while now. The first thing he saw was the architect's face right in front of his, overhanging above him, his hair messy and his silhouette illuminated with the washy morning light, shining from behind, which reminded DeBlanc vaguely of a halo. The initial astonishment having gone, DeBlanc took a quick look around and realized he surely wasn't home. The room was mostly white with some navy blue elements that the sleepy man couldn't quite put his finger on, his sight a bit blurry. His eyes then drifted downward and in an instant he realized he was completely naked. Which would've been okay, considering the events of last night, yet DeBlanc's first impulse was so grab the sheets and cover up. 

\- Um, good morning, - said Fiore with guilt in his voice and somewhat hastily.   
\- Morning, - DeBlanc replied hoarsely, feeling as out of place as ever.  
\- I would've offered you some tea or coffee or breakfast, but I'm so terribly late for work, - Fiore held out his arm, only now bringing DeBlanc's attention to the pile of clothes hanging over it, the pile being DeBlanc's jeans and shirt.

And just then DeBlanc noticed that the other man was wearing his jeans, but they were undone, and he was shirtless, his hair indeed a perfect object instance of bed head. DeBlanc took his clothes silently, he couldn't help but note that Fiore still looked bonny as hell in the morning. 

\- I'm so sorry, this is so rude of me, - Fiore added, under his breath almost.

So DeBlanc had nothing to do other than get up and start putting his clothes on, the architect running around the room, grabbing seemingly random things that, apparently, were of paramount necessity.   
DeBlanc couldn't particularly remember the whole process of dressing up, tumbling down the stairs, past the tiny, yet obnoxiously tidy kitchen and into the hallway. He just somehow found himself out the door. 

\- I'm so sorry, - Fiore repeated and handed DeBlanc something, which DeBlanc took thoughtlessly. 

He was watching Fiore's tall, lean figure move farther down the street as he caught a taxi which drove on into the picture ridiculously handy, as they do in the movies, and off he was.   
DeBlanc almost wanted to yell "can I call you?" before he could see this line make him look even more pathetic. No one'd ever chucked him out like that. Ever. Finally DeBlanc looked down at what was in his hands. The thing that Fiore handed him turned out to be his belt that he'd, probably, left behind in the bedroom, and in his other hand (wow) were his boxers, that he'd apparently forgotten to put on. So there was DeBlanc, standing on the porch of Fiore's house, half-asleep, half-dressed. "Now that's something, - DeBlanc thought, - that's something new right there". He wasn't mad or upset, it was just a bit too much for him to process at the given moment.   
A woman with a huge fluffy saint-bernard on a leash, walking past, gave DeBlanc a dirty look, in response to which he saluted her as if he was touching an invisible hat and bestowed her with his best charming grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!  
> I know this chapter is on the shorter side, but I love the way it turned out so, so much! This one might be my favorite so far.   
> The next one will be longer!


	7. Stick it out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing was going smooth for Fiore this time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A loser hides behind a mask of my disguise,  
> And who I am today is worse than other times (c)

***  
Nothing was going smooth for Fiore this time. After the meeting that he was horribly, vulgarly late to he returned into the tower again (his favorite of the three, actually) even though the load-bearing structure was already done and ready and his presence wasn't necessary. He was sitting in the empty room all enclosed in glass, that was obviously predestined to be the office which every single person working in the company that will eventually occupy the building would want to be in, it will surely become the chief executive office. But for now there was only a table, a moderately comfortable chair and a table lamp. Just a week ago the building was growing and morphing, it was still mysterious and undiscovered, the little desk was carpeted with Fiore's sketches and blueprints one upon the other in a cush, the edges hanging off of the table. And now he was just sitting there, staring at the display of his iPad, twitching and spinning the 3D layout around thoughtlessly. He didn't feel guilty, even though he normally would've. Fiore didn't feel sorry either, even though he knew he should be. But he would've done it all again, except for the ridiculous morning rush, maybe. But, then again, an un-rushed morning would call for a conversation, and polite smiles, and promises of keeping in touch, which Fiore wasn't quite prepared for. He sighed and got up, having decided to take a stroll around the building to lumber up and walk the stress out. He crossed the room and opened the heavy wenge door, still covered in protective plastic. 

\- You! - the exclamation sounded upfront rude, but, in reality, it was just an interjection of sheer astonishment, untinted by any other emotions just yet. 

What (or, who) was in front of Fiore's eyes was the man from last night (or, say, from this morning). He was wearing all the same clothes, indicating that he went straight to the business center after the awkward parting. He was smiling as, it seemed, he often did, but it wasn't the confident grin of a man who knew what he was capable of, of a man who knew he could attract attention, the smile on his face was apologetic and somewhat sheepish, it was evident that DeBlanc felt even more out of place in the blue tower than before. 

\- Um, hi, - he said in a low voice, - I was just, you know, around, so I thought I'd pop in.   
\- You shouldn't be here, - Fiore blurted out, sounding more scared than rude or stern, - Not here, not at work, I don't want anyone to see us together!.. - the architect added in a hasty whisper. 

Fiore reached out and gently pushed DeBlanc out of his way, his touch cautious and foreign upon the other man's shoulder, then walking off quickly into the depth of the corridor, only hoping that the stranger (and Fiore did think of DeBlanc as a stranger, still) would be gone by the time that he made a full circle. 

***  
And he was gone, indeed. Fiore couldn't get anything done that day, his own words indented into his mind, he just then started to realize how horrible they must've sounded. "Rude" would've been a mild way to put it. Dismissive. Mean. Fiore was never like that. And he could't quite rationalize what made him this way. Fear? But fear of what, exactly? There was no answer, within Fiore's conscious mind, at least. There were certain reasons to be scared, but were they the main cause of Fiore's confusion and fright?.. His head was hazy and started to ache, so he decided to leave a bit earlier. He took the elevator, dirty still from the installation, it brought him all the way down, the low, vibrating sound dispiriting Fiore even more. And when he, at last, was out of the blue tower, he took in a big breath of the evening city air. When his eyes were open again and ready to help their distressed bearer get back home, studying the sidewalk all the way into the horizon, with its trees and manholes and lazily striding pedestrians... Oh no not again.   
The stocky figure of the man in black was there. At first Fiore thought he was hallucinating even, but the figure approached him with the same guilty smile. 

\- Would you mind it if I walked you home? - he asked in a weird voice, the voice being weird for him especially. Before that he'd always talked as if he was playing and juggling with words, but now he sounded somewhat blank and a bit conflicted even, like he was performing a task he didn't particularly like.   
\- Not at all, - Fiore replied, making his best impression of a casually cheerful person. 

After walking almost halfway to the destination in silence, Fiore trying to read the other man's expression, barely successful, he couldn't take it anymore. 

\- Listen, I didn't mean to, - he began, the stranger's attention all on him now, DeBlanc's sight fixed on his face, which made it even harder to say the right thing, - I mean, it's not you, it's not about you.

By that time, they stopped walking and were just stood there, in the middle of the sidewalk, the disgruntled locals out for an evening promenade looping around them, giving them dirty looks. Finally, the expression on DeBlanc's face changed, but not for the better. There was a derisive one-sided smirk on his lips, his eyes expressing nothing but distrust of a wounded animal who's never approaching a human being ever again. 

\- Yeah, right, - he breathed out with a slight chuckle, that sounded bitter to the point where it seemed almost aggressive, - "It's not you, it's me". Been there, done that. I see where you're coming from, - Fiore was just staring back at the man, a cautious, puzzled look on his face, - Bye then, - DeBlanc added, tilting his head slightly in a comically courteous gesture, before turning his back to walk away. 

It took Fiore a long moment to realize what he'd just said and understand why the other man was willing to retreat. 

\- No, no, wait, - he exclaimed, his arm stretched out, as if he was trying to hold the other man back with some other type of force than his voice, - DeBlanc, wait. 

DeBlanc stopped to a halt, rooted to the spot. His back to Fiore, he winced before turning around. His name sounded so new and so soft and gentle in Fiore's voice, as if it was something valuable, or something fragile and easy to break. DeBlanc gathered up his guts and looked back up at Fiore. His big blue eyes were wide in a mixture of apprehension and guilt. 

\- Yes? - DeBlanc said, as firmly as he possibly could under such gaze. 

Fiore gestured for them to keep walking, DeBlanc obeyed. 

\- Listen, it's not about you, - Fiore started anew, - it's about my job. The company I work in, it's... I mean, it was... Well it still is though, I mean, it's complicated, alright, but it was my father's. And now that he's gone it's a managerial chaos. And it's a legal issue - whether I have inheritance rights yet and so on, anyway, I digress... - Fiore was rambling again, but DeBlanc was listening attentively, - Long story short, some people there want me gone. So they'll take anything, any slightest concern as an excuse to fire me. I just don't want them to know about my, um, - Fiore looked at the other man for help, hoping saying that part would be enough, but he was silent, - My personal preferences. 

The other man was silent, still, but then there was a soft nod. 

\- Am I making any sense? - Fiore inquired for a more elaborate reaction.   
\- Yeah, yes, - DeBlanc replied, - I guess I... Wouldn't want my... Company to know, either. 

Fiore let out a relieved sigh and a little smile appeared on his face. 

\- So, we're good?   
\- Yeah, yeah, we're fine, - said DeBlanc, but didn't smile in return. 

In a couple of minutes (in which Fiore could't really keep the dialogue going) they reached Fiore's house and stopped in front of his porch. Several lingering moments passed before Fiore breathed in, opened his mouth and closed it, just to open it again. 

\- I'm so sorry for everything I said today, - he breathed out, - I didn't mean to be rude, I swear. 

A slight smile touched the corner of DeBlanc's mouth. Or did Fiore just imagine it? 

\- We're good, - said DeBlanc, in a bit of a softer voice. Now it reminded Fiore of the way that the man spoke to him the night before and he felt his insides quiver a little.   
\- Great, - Fiore squeezed out an awkward grin, - So, see you around?   
\- Right. 

Fiore smiled tensely again. He walked up the stairs and unlocked the door, then closing it shut behind his back, trying not to see whether DeBlanc already walked away or was still there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was long in the making... I hope you guys like it!


	8. Designer drugs and off-brand lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiore prepares to see a whole new facet of DeBlanc.

***  
Ala was laying down on the made-up bed, staring at the ceiling. Her arms wide to the sides and her Jimmy Choo pump still hanging off of her left foot. She was still wearing her dress, but her make-up had already rubbed off onto the covers partially. Her husband left almost immediately after they were off the gala in their fancy car like a fancy little family, staying fancy up until they crossed the threshold of their house that was never really a home. The world was starting to spin before Ala's eyes and the white ceiling started to turn into splashy colors. One could say that she was contemplating her life, alone in the sumptuous cottage in the large bedroom, but there was nothing to contemplate, really. She knew it for a fact: in the campus of pretentious all-girl schools fifteen-year-old rich girls smoke weed that they got from their older friend Jessica. In disgustingly expensive, yet scary clubs twenty-something-year-old wild wrecks do acid that they accepted from the son of their Mother's friend. In the designer bedrooms, forty-three-year-old childless wretches with cheating husbands take prescription sedatives that they got from under the counter for a little extra cash. And there's nothing you can do about it. 

***  
DeBlanc was absolutely positive he was going crazy. Insanity is exactly what that was. Following him into the tower? Well that was nuts. But what was even more nuts, what was totally and completely out of it and utterly unacceptable, was waiting for him there. On the street. For literal hours. Additionally, that being after getting flipped off, so to speak. So, DeBlanc was going crazy. And now he was sitting there, flashbacks of that one night dominating his mind. The warmth of Fiore's skin upon his own. The architect's sighs and whines as DeBlanc's palms were exploring his body, caressing and teasing. The way that he moaned as DeBlanc drove his hard dick deep into his ass...  
DeBlanc had his phone in his hand and was staring at the black display, contemplating whether he should call some sort of a mental institution. Or call Devon and tell her all about it and just screw this whole thing, it was her, after all, who he'd always come to in the time of trouble. Or just call Fiore, as he'd initially intended before he, his thumb hovering above the round blue "call" icon, suddenly realized that he needed a doctor or something. 

***  
There he was again. Late p.m., only the dim light of the lamp on the nightstand illuminating the room, Fiore was sitting at his desk, the tablet in his hand. He could've gone to bed already, but he just couldn't think of anything work-related in bed. Fiore was a true maniac and he felt like he'd always carried his job around upon his shoulders, 3D-modeling apps installed into his every gadget, mechanical pencils all over the place as if he was just shedding them as he walked by, a stylus always in one pocket if it wasn't in the other. So he once and for all decided to keep his bed a work-free space, the only one he had, actually. Fiore was tired and he wasn't doing anything productive for at least an hour now, but he resented going to bed for the pure physical aspect of getting into it. He'd changed the sheets, purposely opted for a different color scheme and even put on a different bedcover, it didn't help. The events of last night just wouldn't let go of him. He tried to block out the oh so vivid and fresh memories, but it's hard to block out getting shagged for the first time in three years. And getting shagged so damn good. Fiore tried not to think of what they had with this strange, but weirdly irresistible man, however, he couldn't help but recall the firework feeling of DeBlanc's large, hard cock hitting his sweet spot with such force, the only thing he could do was moan and scream. His voice, hoarse with arousal - "You're a good boy, huh?" - was echoing in Fiore's head incessantly. And, Fiore would never really admit it, but the fact that the man lied to him about his name kind of turned Fiore on. He felt like it spiced everything up big time. Him being the obedient all-square Fiore that he'd been his whole life, the new and dirty forbidden fruit sensation took over him. He, somehow, loved the way that the weird stranger almost seemed dangerous, deep inside he loved the on-the-edge feel of it. And hated how stupid he acted afterwards. But, then again, what else could he do? Be open and welcoming with a guy that he'd just met and that lied to him right off the bat, just like that? Who knows, maybe the new name wasn't his real name either? Yet, somehow, this name fit him better. Fiore tried to doubt everything that the man told him, but he knew that he wanted to believe.  
Fiore's train of thought was interrupted by the monotonous ringtone, accompanied by the rhythmic buzzing. Fiore was almost startled, he looked over to the display: it was an unknown number. But in a moment the architect remembered, that he only gave his number to DeBlanc, there, in the coffee shop, and didn't put anything down on his part. That realization having dawned upon him, Fiore grabbed the phone and swiped to pick up the call. 

\- Hi, - the warm, velvety voice, even distorted by the phone speaker, was hard not to recognize, yet the introduction followed, - It's DeBlanc. What's up? - that was fast and readable, as if rehearsed.  
\- Hi, nothing much, I guess, you? - Fiore replied, trying to keep his voice soft and friendly, too. Enough of callousness for one day on his part.  
\- Yeah, same, - there was a pause that gave Fiore a mini panic attack, because if the responsibility of keeping the conversation going was to fall on him, he would've failed miserably, - Hey I, um, wanted to ask you one thing? - there was a pause again, calling for a response.  
\- Sure, go ahead.  
\- We're having a, a- a sort of a family reunion thing tomorrow, so I was wondering if you would like to come with me, maybe? 

Fiore had expected anything but that. He was taken by surprise. "Well, at least I would know whether it's his real name, if I don't get murdered in some woods along the way", - he thought. What was surprise and astonishment came across as hesitation, apparently, so DeBlanc decided to elaborate. 

\- I thought you could stay for the weekend, it's about a two-hour drive from here, if that's okay with you, but the scenery is really nice along the way so...  
\- Yeah, why not, I'd love to come, - yet again Fiore forgot all the common sense, all the feel of shadiness that he'd got in the presence of the strange man and went in it head first. The truth was, for whatever reason, he just wanted to trust DeBlanc.  
\- Great, - you could almost hear the smile in the enlivened voice, - I'll pick you up tomorrow at around 10 a.m., okay?  
\- Yes, sounds good to me.  
\- See you tomorrow then, - what was meant to be a statement sounded like a half-question.  
\- See you tomorrow. Good night, - Fiore added, uncertainly.  
\- Good night, - the velvety voice purred softly, before hanging up. 

Fiore locked his phone and got up, then flopping down onto the bed, now with great relish. "Gotta get some sleep before the big day", - he thought and passed out, before even understanding why the day was supposed to be that "big". 

***  
Fiore woke up a lot earlier than he reasonably should have, and yet he was dressing up and having breakfast hastily. Throughout the course of two hours he had the near-death experience of almost spilling his coffee all over himself twice, ran up and down the stairs about five times and banged his elbows on the doorjambs about a thousand times. He also changed his outfit three times, trying to find the precarious equilibrium between the smart and the casual, and so he was sitting in the kitchen, looking straight forward into the void, in an outfit featuring one of his favorite light-blue button-downs, and still finding it debatable whether it was appropriate. The dirty plate and skillet were already in the sink, unwashed, Fiore being too agitated to get such things done. He was nervous, straight up nervous. To the point where he regretted agreeing to go, the only thing that held him back from calling DeBlanc at 7 a.m. and saying he was sick, or that he suddenly had things to do, or that his dog ate his homework and he couldn't come because his house was swept away by a tornado and dropped off in the Emerald City was his common decency... And, well... That look on DeBlanc's face when he thought Fiore was trying to get rid of him. He just couldn't let it happen again.  
The short buzz of his phone upon the counter made Fiore jump. The "I'm here" text was in precisely at 9:51 a.m. Fiore stood up abruptly and hurried into the hallway, then slowing down and forcing himself to linger, and then double check whether he had the keys, and then tie his shoelaces very deliberately. Because, running out of the house just exactly 30 seconds after the text would've been desperate, wouldn't it?.. Fiore took a deep breath and opened the door.  
What he saw was a dark-grey metallic Mercedes GLK, which he didn't quite expect, as, judging by DeBlanc's clothes, he couldn't really tell what his financial status was. However, today was very different. The passenger window of the car was rolled down and Fiore could see DeBlanc in the driver seat, he was wearing a shirt and a stylish dark blue checkered blazer. Having realized that he was probably underdressed, Fiore cringed internally, yet noted that they were going to look somewhat color coordinated... Which, to be honest, made it even worse.  
DeBlanc, his shoulders tense and his one hand clutching the steering wheel, a rehearsed smile stuck in the corners of his mouth, saw Fiore and the ready-made grin unhinged and he did a half-wave, his palm not completely off the wheel, as if it was glued to it. DeBlanc got an equally tense smile and awkward uptight wave in return and pushed the passenger side door from the inside as Fiore was making his way to the car.  
Fiore got in and froze - DeBlanc looked strikingly good, so the only thing that he could do was stare, he was pretty sure his mouth was open, too. He then realized there must be some sort of a greeting going on at that point and, surely, it wouldn't be a handshake, which would've been absolutely ridiculous. So Fiore jerked forward to the other man slightly, but then stopped himself halfway, thinking that what he'd had in mind would be awkward, too, but just as he started pulling away, DeBlanc leaned in as well, just to find nobody home. Fiore was so embarrassed the Earth could as well just open and swallow him up, but then he noticed the apparent softness in DeBlanc expression, accompanied with a friendly smile. Fiore smiled back just before the other man reached for him, put his one hand on his cheek and pulled him in for a kiss, which lasted one moment too long for a "hello" kiss, as Fiore closed his eyes and enjoyed it, overwhelmed with the sensation of DeBlanc's big, warm palm upon his face, DeBlanc's stubble slightly prickly, his perfume spicy and masculine.  
DeBlanc pulled away and could catch a glimpse, just for a fleeting moment, of Fiore's flustered face, his eyes closed, his soft, golden-blonde eyelashes trembling lightly. It all took just several seconds, but it felt like the time had stopped for DeBlanc. So, when Fiore opened his eyes and sat back into the seat, DeBlanc took a big breath and said: 

\- Buckle up and let's go, huh?  
\- Yeah, - Fiore replied softly and fastened his safety belt, averting his eyes. 

DeBlanc's gaze was now fixed on the road, his heart fluttering and uneasy in the best way. He certainly didn't expect such a start to the whole thing. It felt like it was the same flustered and adoring Fiore that he'd already witnessed and it made his insides quiver almost uncomfortably. The feel of Fiore's skin was pulsing upon his palm, and what he wanted most was to touch him again, to caress his face, to run his hands down Fiore's exposed body once again... But he was focused on the road. So focused. So focused that when Fiore made a sound for the first time it felt like it undid the trance, and DeBlanc realized they were already out of town and there were sepia-green fields on the both sides of the road. 

\- Is it okay if I ask you something?  
\- Yeah, I mean, of course, - DeBlanc hurried to answer.  
\- I mean, wouldn't it be distracting? 

DeBlanc's squinted into the horizon above the empty road.

\- Well, there's no one to bump into, - DeBlanc said, having a quick glance at the man next to him, - go ahead.

Fiore took a deep breath and asked the question, quick and articulate, as if he'd taken the time to formulate it. 

\- How old were you when you told your parents? - Pause. Fiore interpreted DeBlanc's confusion as hesitation and decided to add something else in to make it easier to answer, - And how did they take it? 

DeBlanc was silent, a torturous look on his face. He was genuinely missing the point. The last thing he wanted to do was asking Fiore to specify, but the pause was becoming uncomfortable, so there was no choice really. 

\- When I told them... What?  
\- Oh! - Fiore exclaimed, realizing that the only thing missing to continue the conversation was just a bit of clarification, - When you told them you were... You know? - he added in a suggestive tone. 

All of the bad things he'd ever done (quite a selection) swished through DeBlanc's mind, giving him a mini panic attack. But he quickly decided that Fiore couldn't possibly be asking about any of that. 

\- That I'm what? - He asked even quieter with a guilty smile. Now Fiore was confused.  
\- What?  
\- What? 

After a lingering pause, Fiore almost snorted and started laughing. A moment of hesitation passed before DeBlanc chuckled too. 

\- Are you kidding me? - Fiore panted.  
\- No-o! - DeBlanc still couldn't grasp it, but the whole situation was a lot less tense now.  
\- How old were you when you told your parents you were gay? - and there was a pause again.  
\- I guess I- I guess I never did.  
\- Oh wow, - to say Fiore was stunned was a mild way to put it, - I mean... Well... Uh, well, I never really told my father, too. 

"But it never occurred to me to just show up at his doorstep with a dude, out of the blue, either", - he added in his head. Fiore was trying desperately to atone for the awkward moment for the rest of the ride, and DeBlanc, DeBlanc was being a good sport and trying to play along with it. With little to no success, however. So when the tires started rustling upon the silvery-purple gravel, a word out of a generic textbook small talk dialogue was stuck in Fiore's mouth. A huge house... No, a mansion clad in stone, swaddled with blooming gillyflower, was now towering above them. The two men in the car suddenly went silent and Fiore found himself rooted to the seat and felt his fingers run cold. He didn't want to get out. He was utterly mortified, so when DeBlanc put his hand on Fiore's knee in a gesture that was meant to be reassuring, he almost jumped. 

\- Come on, - DeBlanc said softly and unlocked the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah hi everyone, there's that! I hope you enjoyed!


	9. Don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiore meets DeBlanc's family.

***  
Now that Fiore saw DeBlanc full-body for the first time that day, he noticed he was wearing a pair of expensive, classy shoes and a matching belt. Fiore felt ashamed that he hadn't expected the other man to look so good. As he was eyeing DeBlank sneakily, yet fixedly, he found himself thinking about just how much he'd love to ride DeBlanc now, in that stylish blazer and well-tailored shirt, full-clothed, just unzip his fly and sit on his...  
However, as they were getting closer to the front door, there was no room for such thoughts anymore. Fiore was ridiculously nervous, as if he was some sort of a prom date of a Carrie type girl and was about to meet her mother to assure her that her little treasure will be home by ten. Fiore found himself forgetting how to walk as they were approaching the porch. When they were already walking up the steep marble steps, he lingered for a moment. 

\- What do I say? 

DeBlanc turned to look at Fiore. His expression was a sight to behold, an intense mixture of nervousness, confusion and agitation. DeBlanc already regretted setting this whole thing up. He just wanted to go home. And, maybe, take Fiore with him. But, instead, he put his hand on Fiore's lower shoulder and squeezed it slightly. 

\- Just say what you feel like saying, it will be alright. They are great people. 

Even DeBlanc himself could hear the uncertainty in his words, so he could only imagine how un-reassuring they must've sounded to Fiore. Yet, they walked all the way up and DeBlanc rang the doorbell. They were still for a couple of seconds before they could hear a pair of heels clanking towards the door, as it opened with a loud click.  
DeBlanc tried to conceal his sigh. Ala. That wasn't off to a good start. 

\- Oh hello, brother, come on in, - she said so very calmly, only talking to DeBlanc and disregarding Fiore, apparently. 

Fiore couldn't help but notice it. He swallowed hard and walked in after DeBlanc, as he gestured for him to do so. Fiore looked up and around: it was a huge hall full of light, decorated in a couture cabin kind of style, but Fiore's eyes were immediately drawn to the ceiling. It was beautifully executed, the wooden beams forming a quaint pattern. 

\- Hello there! - That voice sounded way more cheerful, but still a bit fake, as if rehearsed. 

Fiore lowered his eyes again and saw a whole group of people in front of him, as he'd unknowingly walked a couple of steps past DeBlanc, and couldn't just stand behind his shoulder now. He had a micro panic attack before DeBlanc stepped forward and Fiore felt his light touch upon his upper back. 

\- Kali, this is Fiore, - the slim, caramel-skinned woman offered Fiore her hand. She wasn't really tall, nor was she short, but her body proportions were nearly perfect. She looked harmonious in every way, her golden-brown hair cascading down her shoulders, the waves hugging her face nicely, - Fiore, this is my sister, Kali.

Fiore shook the hand with a friendly smile, while also eyeing the rest of the group and half-smiling at them, trying to seem as polite as humanly possible. 

\- It's nice to meet you.  
\- You already saw Ala. 

Now, Ala offered her hand too. She and Kali looked very much alike, but it was evident that Ala was older. It wasn't that she looked worse, there was just a different look in her eyes, a look of exhaustion and hostility, even. Fiore didn't want to jump to conclusions, but he didn't like Ala. 

\- And that's my youngest sister, Lilith. 

Fiore looked in the direction of DeBlanc's gesture and saw a late-teen girl with bright orange hair, rather skinny, yet very vibrant in a way. She didn't offer her hand, she just did a little half-wave. 

\- Hi Fiore! - just now Fiore noticed how her eyes were of exactly identical chestnut hue as DeBlanc's. Fiore waved back with a grin. He felt some sort of a comfort in how lightweight Lilith was comparing to the other sisters.  
\- And that's Eli, my brother, - DeBlanc's voice dropped to a lower tone, even. As if the name tasted bitter in his mouth. 

Fiore, however, didn't really see why. Right off the bat, Eli seemed really nice, he had a sweet-looking smile and very curly dark-blonde hair that he wore short. He was the tallest of the load, as tall as Fiore or a bit taller, even. He was well-built and just came across quite agreeable. Eli gave Fiore a rather strong handshake. 

\- Welcome! Nice to meet you, - he said, his voice on the higher side, articulate and somewhat charming. Eli seemed like a nice guy to Fiore, even though he couldn't ignore the apparent aversion seeping through DeBlanc's voice as he introduced his brother. 

Suddenly, everyone in the group stiffened up. The sound of high heels clanking could be heard all throughout the hall, the house seemed to get slightly colder and darker even. An elderly woman (who could be called elderly only with great reserve) was approaching them inexorably. Her slim figure was tight and acute in her long-sleeved black dress, her silver hair in an intricately styled wavy bob. There was something menacing about her, about the way that she stopped abruptly, her one hand on her younger son's shoulder, her other hand on her hip in an open pose, resembling of the hood of a cobra. 

\- Good day, Mother, - DeBlanc said hoarsely, his tone suggesting a note of rebellion, yet timid in some way.

In response to such a dry greeting she only nodded. 

\- Welcome, - she said looking at Fiore, her voice calm and cold with a steely note to it, - It's nice to meet you. You are?.. - she added politely, suggesting that Fiore was an expected guest and that she must've at least heard of him before.

DeBlanc swallowed hard and cleared his throat. 

\- This is Fiore, - DeBlanc gestured at him, exposing him to Mother's judgement.

Eva raised her eyebrow slightly. DeBlanc knew it wasn't too much of a clarification. The air in the room tightened. Mother opened her mouth, drawn out with a layer of nude lipstick, intending to inquire for additional information, when- 

\- Fiore? What kind of a name is that? - Lilith's voice sliced through the awkwardness, jingling slightly in the undertones. 

Eva turned her head to face her youngest child, yet that glare didn't stump Lilith, the baby of the family knew she could get away with pretty much anything. 

\- Lilith, rude, - she hammered.  
\- No, no, it's alright, - Fiore intervened in the scene that he had been spectating from the outside before that, - It's Italian, actually... 

Fiore continued to talk about his name to the DeBlanc family, not establishing a dialogue with anyone in particular, but mainly directing his efforts at Kali, who seemed to be listening most attentively, as they all just started moving, slowly but surely, towards the dining hall. DeBlanc let out a breath that he seemed to have been holding throughout the whole course of the introduction. He hurried to catch up and, as his eyes connected with Lilith's, two pairs of fiery hazels, he gave his little sister a grateful look, putting his hand upon his heart, behind everyone else's backs. Lilith winked at him in return and hurried to occupy her sit next, leaving her partner in crime to his own agenda. 

***  
Fiore got seated next to DeBlanc's aunt, who turned out to be an artist, so he was genuinely having a great time talking to her and Kali (across and a little to the side from him) about artdeco influences in the architecture of the modern high-rise buildings, he was casting fleeting glances at DeBlanc every once in a while, as if seeking approval. He really did feel like he was doing a great job and making a nice impression, and he really hoped it would make DeBlanc happy, or that it would make up for all of the dumb things that Fiore had done and said. DeBlanc, however, didn't look like he was having the time of his life, he did acknowledge Fiore's attention, but didn't react as lively as Fiore would've wanted him to. He was talking to one of his distant cousins about some car that the cousin (supposedly) purchased recently. The peaceful family get-together would've been absolutely normal, not to say average, if it wasn't for the surprised looks that the DeBlancs were giving each other. Luckily, Fiore didn't notice, or else he would've thought that he was the reason of this collective confusion, mistakenly. In reality, the siblings hadn't seen DeBlanc like that in a long while. Surely, he wasn't radiating friendliness, but he was participating in conversations instead of just kicking his food around the plate. And throughout the course of the dinner, he didn't come up with anything ridiculous to tell his relatives about his life. As Mother didn't really seem to care (even though she'd noticed for sure), the older sisters were rather amused. And only Lilith was peeking at her brother with a concerned look in her eyes. Something was off. As soon as the thought flashed through her mind, DeBlanc pushed his plate a bit further and put his fork and knife away, while still talking to the man to his left. 

\- Yeah, yeah, come on, - he said and got up from his chair, the sound making Fiore turn to look at him, a lost expression on his face, even though he was existing rather independently at the table, the thought of DeBlanc leaving even for a short while was rather unnerving, - I'm gonna go see Samael's new car real quick, okay? - after a short pause, Fiore nodded.  
\- Of course, - he said softly. 

DeBlanc had a split second to make the decision. To choose between fulfilling the plan that he'd been developing for weeks or to not play around with the fragile bond that he knew was forming between him and Fiore. But his overwhelming, destructive desire to piss his family off took over. So just when Fiore was about to turn back and finish what he was saying to aunt Jinn, DeBlanc put his palm on Fiore's nape and pushed his mouth upon Fiore's. Fiore was so shocked he could barely feel anything, but the kiss was... Weird. Almost emotionless, it seemed. Fiore could feel his heart pound as even in the fading moment of confusion he knew something went wrong. So by the time that he opened his eyes and turned his head back to face all of the clan members at the table, DeBlanc was out of the room. What Fiore was welcomed with was utter silence and compete paralysis. It felt like every single person present jut froze in the middle of what they were doing, motionless at the long table, the picture reminded Fiore of "The Last Supper" vaguely. Except he wasn't an uninvolved spectator, he was the cause, all eyes on him, not judging him, but yearning for an explanation of some sort, maybe? Panicked, Fiore searched for a pair of eyes with at least a slightly different expression. And he stumbled upon Lilith's eyes, painfully resembling of DeBlanc's, the look of plain horror in them. 

\- Lilith, - he called, a bit louder than he'd originally intended.  
\- Yes? - she replied instantly, startled.  
\- Would you pass me the potatoes, please? - His voice slightly tense. 

When Lilith reached out for the platter, a deafening metallic bang filled the room, making all of the family members jump, it faded into a low screech. The collective DeBlanc clan gaze shifted and drifted to the opposite wall. An embarrassed maid was standing beside the fireplace, the large crucifix above it now hanging on one nail, upside-down, swaying lightly from side to side over the DeBlanc family. 

\- Oh gosh, not again, - Ala's voice full of pent-up frustration sliced through the silence as she got up and hurried to get the problem fixed, and the family members slowly unfroze, continuing the feast. 

***  
Fiore's forehead pressed against the window, endless fields replacing each other before his eyes, almost merging into one and shifting in hue, he could feel the glass reverberate slightly with the speed of the car oscillating. 

\- Fiore, - DeBlanc called softly, with no response. 

Fiore's eyes were fixated on one spot, the monochrome landscape almost hypnotizing, his mind numb, as the initial shock and frustration had already faded. They didn't stay for the weekend, DeBlanc came up with some generic excuse and they took off just about a couple of hours after the incident. And Fiore wasn't sure whether his reaction was the reason to that, or, maybe, DeBlanc had planned it to go like that all along. 

\- Fiore, come on. I said I was sorry. - Silence, - Fiore, there's no reason to be offended really, - DeBlanc was getting annoyed. He'd never quite gotten to the point where someone would give him the silent treatment in any of his relationships, so this concept was fairly new to him, - It's okay, nothing tragic happened.  
\- No, it's not, - Fiore turned to look at DeBlanc abruptly, his voice still rather low, yet harsh, - It's not okay, DeBlanc. 

The way that Fiore sounded more hurt and disappointed than angry or frustrated hit DeBlanc hard. Even the way that Fiore said his name changed. There wasn't that warmth and caution there anymore. Fiore's brows were furrowed; a tame, yet condemning look in his big blue eyes. DeBlanc's gaze was locked on Fiore and he couldn't look away. He felt like the biggest piece of shit in the universe, yet that condemn really tickled his sensitive spot, he felt a wave of simmering anger fill up his chest. He clenched his jaw tight and looked back at the road, his both hands clutching the wheel spastically. A moment later he could see with his peripheral vision that Fiore turned away from him and to the window, remaining like that until the end of the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Samael - an important archangel in Talmudic and post-Talmudic lore, a figure who is an accuser, seducer, and destroyer, and has been regarded as both good and evil.  
> Jinn are mentioned frequently in the Quran. The Quran says that the jinn were created from a smokeless and "scorching fire", but are also physical in nature, being able to interact in a tactile manner with people and objects and likewise be acted upon.


	10. Bei den verirrten herzen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our past is never truly gone for good, is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Among the hearts astray ©

***  
DeBlanc was craving a smoke, which was, obviously, unacceptable, given that he was already on the position. Leaving his DNA there just for anyone to grab would equal suicide - it was one of the first things he'd learned about the job. He'd already smoked in the car on his way to the location, for the first time in about a year, after he'd just given it up, it seemed, which was a struggle. Smoking was a dangerous luxury for his kind. The cigarettes tasted bitter and made his throat feel like sand and his eyes water, but that discomfort was somewhat redeeming. DeBlanc had never really enjoyed the feeling of the smoke filling him up, pinching at his throat and lungs. The way he indulged in this detrimental addiction resembled mortification of the flesh of some sort, but in its modern, more cynical incarnation.   
DeBlanc adjusted the stocks and sat back for a moment. His trusty SSG was resting on the rotting, damp windowsill. The whole tiny abandoned cabin seemed moist and was reeking of wet wood, which wasn't the worst smell for sure, but after spending four hours in the rotting shack it became utterly stifling to DeBlanc. The low rustling hum of the reed, sprawling all around and as far as the human eye could see, was now just a barely noticeable background buzz, reverberating within DeBlanc's head, it felt like it was resonating with the bone, irritating the brain. "How can one possibly live here", - DeBlanc thought, and, as though answering his question, there was movement in the subject's house, making him jump forward and look through the scope. He was far enough, given that, in spite of the incessant slight wind, the terrain was fairly flat, allowing for more secrecy, but DeBlanc was still moving slowly and silently like a wild cat. The house was more of a wagon really, built, somehow, right atop of the bog, all tangled in duckweed. It seemed impossible to get in even without getting soaked knee-deep in the dark dense waters. The rays of the washy morning sun were jumping upon the surface, but even that weightless light couldn't get through it and illuminate the endless swamp. The house, on the other hand, was all translucent, every single movement of its owner obvious, his slouching figure in the white robe traveling recklessly through the one room before he went out of the carriage ("must be his stop" DeBlanc joked within himself silently and scarcely joyously) with a vase in his hands, he put it atop the tiny wooden table. The vase was full of white flowers. Upon closer inspection, they turned out to be calla lilies.   
DeBlanc got into position, his grip soft yet steady on the gun, his sight all scope. The man was taking the lilies out of the vase one by one and cutting the stems shorter, the green pieces flying all over the place, some plonking into the waters. DeBlanc had never really thought of the targets as people, for obvious reasons, but he was getting a weird impression with that one in particular. "So unprofessional", - he thought. He just couldn't make it work that day. Probably, Fiore was right about him. Fiore was right to disregard him, to try and get rid of him. DeBlanc wasn't mad anymore, because Fiore was right and he knew it as the nose on his face. What's he good for, anyway?   
That's the only thing that he can do, really, and, even after all those years he can't seem to do it properly. He knew he was lost and he had enough courage to face it. Just as lost as he was when his father died. Just as lost as he was when he started college, under Mother's rigorous persuasion, of course. A little wreck of a kid. He fell in with the wrong crowd as soon as he possibly could have, the studies posed no interest to him, needless to say. And if college taught him anything at all, it was that it was actually very hard to get expelled. At least when your last name's "DeBlanc" and you feel invincible, and alcohol is casual, and light drugs are your trusty companions. The string of girlfriends, all the same, their pussies slightly different and the way that their breath smelled of different cigarettes almost awakening, they would come and go as though without DeBlanc's participation. Intoxicated, sex was better. And having sex and being intoxicated were altogether better than classes and lectures. And dark rooms full of blue smoke were better than classrooms and desks, the bass of the trance music better than the monotonous buzz of the professors' voices. DeBlanc would've been a lost cause and would've ended up with a needle up his vein, with his dick in someone's mouth, cold and unidentified (like the guy that the guy he'd known knew did, which still didn't make any of his activities seem menacing), if it wasn't for one thing. The one thing that he discovered about a year in. And that one thing was shooting. The one thing that made him get up early after the weird mixture of a party and an orgy of last night and go to the campus shooting range and train. The one thing that made his thickened blood run faster in his veins, made him put aside the stud and refuse a stamp. Made him feel alive.   
A rebellious kid with a burning passion for shooting. No wonder he ended up with Devon.   
One of the faceless girlfriends took him there, to the expensive looking, yet shadowy and cigarette-smelling club. The night was hound and the music was pounding hard, yet he was led past all that and into the backroom, through the dark-violet corridors. She was there, in the quieter room, surrounded by a group of people roughly of his age, of all genders, a dozen pairs of eyes piercing through him each with a different expression. She was smoking. Her pitch-black curly hair made her look somewhat Hispanic, but the purple undertones in her skin signified otherwise, or was it just the light? She had dark lipstick on and her skinny leg ending with a sky-high stiletto was rocking up and down in time with the muffled beat that could still be heard leaking from the main hall. 

\- So, I heard you were really keen on shooting, darling? - she purred out before taking another hit. DeBlanc swallowed hard, strangely intimidated, and nodded. 

He didn't really understand what he got himself into at first. Nobody really did. They never do.   
The secure line flashed. 30 seconds. DeBlanc sighed and sat more comfortably, counting down to himself, the man's head in the center of his scope at all times. 28, 27, 26... It was all different back then, it was wrong and it was scary... 20, 19, 18... But now, at that exact moment, DeBlanc felt just as useless as he did the first time that he pulled the trigger with a human being in his scope... 15, 14, 13... But he hit it right between her eyes that time, "good job", Devon said dryly... 10, 9, 8... Breath in, breath out... But he never thought of himself as good... 7, 6, 5... Heart pumps the blood in.... No wonder Fiore doesn't think DeBlanc is deserving of him- Fiore!.. The heart pumps the blood out quicker, falling inside of DeBlanc's chest just as he pushes the trigger. He could almost see the bullet fly, his blood cold, the realization hitting him hard - that is it. But, suddenly, the man slips and jerks back abruptly, his head meeting the bullet, wrapping around its unfeeling flight. Instinctively, DeBlanc keeps counting. -3, -4, -5... The man falls, the calla lilies raining down on his now lifeless body, falling down softly like butterfly kisses, raising tiny red drops into the air where they fell.   
DeBlanc breathed in spastically and wiped the sweat off of his forehead with his sleeve. A couple of seconds to recollect and time to pack his shit, staying there another moment was the one thing that repulsed DeBlanc, no more wet woody smells, no more reeds rustling, no more white calla lilies. 

***  
Fiore was having a late dinner and not enjoying it at all. Eating had always been more of a chore to him really. It was always distracting, time-consuming and uncalled for when his stomach would start growling and he would have to step away from his work (or other things that were obviously more important than spending 30 minutes you will never get back in the kitchen) and he would have to solve this problem somehow. Fiore lived alone and that made cooking even more of an anguish. He was never too much of a public person, but he couldn't help finding the ritual in which he partakes alone, creating something and then destroying it right away without anyone ever knowing it rather fruitless.   
Consumed by the philosophical thoughts on the inane nature of food consumption, Fiore still was glancing at his phone anxiously. He was expecting DeBlanc to call. Actually, he had expected him to call right away, so he spent the first day of silence with the smartphone clutched tightly in his hand and always by his side. But it was the evening of the second day of the boycott already and it was driving Fiore insane. He wasn't fond of being so dependent on the device, jumping and stumbling to look at the notification every time the phone vibrated and getting an adrenaline rush every time the screen lit up. Some would find it rather romantic, the wait and the uncertainty of expectation, but Fiore had stomach-churning memories linked to all that fuss inseparably. He couldn't help it: every time he would spring up and check his phone over-enthusiastically, the faded, yet unforgiving shadows of Vincent fogged his mind.   
They had been together for a little under two years. His name was Vincent and he was four years older than Fiore at that time. Meaning, Fiore was pretty sure that his name was still Vincent and that he was still four years older, but it felt like, as this page was turned, the existence of Vincent in the same universe with Fiore was over, too. As if it was just a bad movie with a cliffhanger ending and a sequel in the making that everyone knew wasn't really worth watching. So as the audience walked out of the movie theatre, they were left with the aftertaste of the underwhelming film on the back of their tongue, knowing that there was going to be something else in store, but forever apart with the whole production.   
Vincent worked for the same company as Fiore. He still did, but just as they broke up Fiore finished the project (the sinister project that they met because of) and moved to mostly working from home or on the objects. The fact that throughout the three years that passed Fiore hadn't seen Vincent, not even once, made the illusion that he just vanished after the relationship was over even more believable. It was hard to tell who initiated the breakup. Fiore was pretty sure it was Vincent. Just because Fiore was never enough. He never seemed to suffice for the elusive sky-high standards that were, apparently, there. Apparently, Fiore was bad at his job, the eggs he fried were always too dry on the bottom and too wet on the top, the words that he chose when he spoke were too hasty and never coherent, and his taste in movies low-brow. Fiore was willing to work on his imperfections. He would put his phone down in the way that would allow him to see the screen when he showered, because he knew that if he missed a call there would be a fight. He would wear blazers and ties that he hated wholeheartedly to look more imposing and to comply. He would listen carefully when Vincent would explain yet another reason why Fiore was horribly immature and just unbearable to coexist with. So unbearable that, after one year and ten months Vincent was just gone. To find someone more business-minded, less gay and equally submissive, probably.   
Vincent was bald, just like DeBlanc. He was shorter than Fiore, too, but just a little. He wore turtlenecks with well-tailored blazers and had glasses. He was the head of development. He spoke in a lower voice when he was around investors and brought up his older brother who owned an art gallery a lot. Vincent loved red wine and minimalistic interior design, expensive pens and squash, and didn't love Fiore. Fiore remembered the way Vincent took his coffee, his shoe size and the smell of his aftershave, the way his hands felt and the sound he made during sex, and didn't miss Vincent. At all. Not even the tiniest bit. 

***  
Eva is young. She feels young, even though she is about to turn 40 in two months. 40 is an intimidating number, and she would've spent her days looking at her extraordinarily youthful face in the mirror searching for the tiniest creases and wrinkles, the first telltale signs of age. But she didn't. She felt young though, too young for all of the things that happened in the last year and seven months.   
One step, another. There, one by one, it's not that hard. Her black stilettos clanked obnoxiously loud against the parquet. She finally struggled her way into the living room and leaned on the doorway jamb, her tight dress seemed to be suffocating, enlacing her ribcage, restricting her breathing. Ala was talking on the phone, to the funeral parlour representative, presumably. Ala, Eva's big girl. She only just legally became an adult, and she's so much better at pulling herself together and getting things done.   
Dominic was nowhere to be found, but Eva knew that he was probably in the backyard garden, he spent almost the entirety of the week there, which Ala deemed egoistic and lashed out at him every single time she caught the reserved teenager sneaking out. But, honestly, Eva couldn't really blame him. Her sight fell lower and into the depth of the living room, suddenly stumbling upon Kali's eyes, the girl sitting unnaturally upright on the cappuccino suede sofa. Two hazel-green gems were blank, hollow even. Eva couldn't look away. Her hands started shaking and her breath wound up even worse. Two wide-open, blank, lifeless impossibly green eyes. She saw that very same picture not so long ago. And everything around was white. And the room was cold, and the IV was still running and it ran and ran for a long time after it had already become unnecessary. A shiver of genuine horror went through Eva's body, seeing those green eyes as though she was still in the hospital, as though her lungs were giving out again, doctors and nurses scurrying past her. Her knees buckled. Eva heard the sound of plastic dropping against the wood, Ala dropped the phone and rushed up to her, gripping her by the arm before she could start to fall, but she was already only seeing black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to european/american friends!   
> Sorry for a bit of a sad chapter, I hope you like it still!


	11. Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to kiss and make-up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, the night is coming to an end,  
> The sun will rise, and we will try again (c)

***  
It was cold outside. Or was it just DeBlanc's blood running cold? Nonetheless, the wind was dank, and the man in all black was taking the midnight air in, inhaling it in its piercing sharp freshness. The city air smelled the nicest to him. Yet he was uneasy, that could be detected by the way he was shifting from one foot to the other, tumbling the insides of his pockets, looking up and then down again, a stranger to the neighborhood, standing on someone else's front porch.   
DeBlanc was still wearing his "work clothes", which made him uncomfortable. It was the second time he was wandering around Fiore's house dressed like that. DeBlanc was perfectly aware that it was unsafe, but couldn't bear the thought of wasting time going back home to change. The idea of pacing around the porch for fifteen minutes, however, was apparently bearable. Although DeBlanc was getting paranoid, afraid that Fiore would know, would see him in the rotting shack, would feel the blood, would smell calla lilies on him...   
DeBlanc shook it off and came closer to the door, his hand now going up and ringing the doorbell inevitably. Too late to back off. It's all done.   
DeBlanc could hear hasty steps behind the door, before, with a short pause, it opened. What he saw was the sleepy, tired Fiore, the way he looked resembling of the way he did when DeBlnac saw him for the second time ever - dull and exhausted. And yet he was endearingly domestic, his hair ruffled slightly, he was motionless in his pajama pants and a t-shirt one size too big, his eyes locked with DeBlanc's so firmly that it took the latter a moment to pluck up the courage and actually say something. 

\- Fiore, I, - he started and cut himself off right away, running out of breath way too quickly, - Fiore, I'm so sorry. 

There was nothing new in the words that he said, he had already said the exact same sentence a number of times on their way back from his parents' house, yet, somehow, it felt right this time. Fiore just couldn't play around with it anymore. He finally unfroze and leaned in so abruptly that DeBlanc was startled for a second before finding Fiore's lips upon his own and Fiore's palms cupping his face, DeBlanc forgot to breathe, his heart having flung up in an excited fit and now pounding somewhere up in his throat. He stepped inside and closed the door behind his back before wrapping his arms around Fiore, his hands flat on Fiore's back, stroking him softly and pressing him closer, Fiore's mouth gentle and selfless upon his own, the taller man warm and confiding in his arms, he never wanted to let go. Just when DeBlanc thought that, Fiore broke the kiss, but didn't pull away, his palms still upon DeBlanc's face, their bodies pressed together as tightly as the height difference would allow. 

\- Make love to me, - Fiore's airy whisper right in his ear, not vulgar or even seductive, but rather trusting and forgiving. 

DeBlanc's shoulders stiffened up. Love, love was a big word. Unlike any other words to have ever been said to him, even in that sense. He couldn't help but feel his overwhelming fear of commitment act up. DeBlanc took half a step back, the other man's palms sliding off of his face, his sight got caught up in Fiore's. A pair of wide open baby-blues looking straight at him with the biggest amount of trust he'd ever seen, and certainly more than DeBlanc himself had ever given anyone. Confused and suddenly uneasy, he released his embrace. The awkward silence filled the air, but, suddenly, DeBlanc felt a warm hand on his forearm through the sweatshirt sleeve, sliding all the way down until the soft fingertips traced his rugged knuckles, went along his fingers and connected with the inside of his palm, the blood flow concentrated in the tiny dots upon the heated skin, feeling almost magnetic. DeBlanc gazed back up at Fiore's face. A guilty hesitant shadow of a smile touched the corner of his mouth, and DeBlanc was just a sigh away from dragging his sneakers off without looking and without even untying the shoelaces, which he did, then led upstairs by Fiore's gentle fingertips. Up and into the blue and white bedroom, the door still wide open, DeBlanc's sweatshirt flying across the room, his hot hands sliding under Fiore's t-shirt, it had to go, and the pajama pants had to go, the clobber very unnecessary as DeBlanc found himself on his back, upon the white sheets, the naked, lanky Fiore, warm with desire, his cock and nipples hard, on top of DeBlanc on his lap, Fiore's knees on the both sides of him, a condom already in his hand, they paused.   
"Here we go again", - though Fiore, trembling, yet still hesitant, not for long though, as DeBlanc pulled him in for a brief, but resolute kiss, DeBlanc's hands exploring Fiore's body in the meanwhile, inch by inch, his hot palms sliding up Fiore's knees, stroking his tense thighs tenderly, then up his torso, caressing his sides, the gentle fingers brushing against the hard nipples in an unobtrusively intricate way. DeBlanc figured it was one of Fiore's soft spots back when they first got laid, and teasing him like that drove DeBlanc crazy, he was reveling in Fiore's soft sighs and shivers with every allegedly random devilishly cunning caress, the affectionate open palms fondling the aroused nipples ever so delicately, Fiore's body leaning in, seeking more contact, yet unwilling to hinder the intimacy of the lightweight touch. DeBlanc's hands went up and on Fiore's shoulders, he broke the kiss, stroking Fiore carefully and firmly in motions resembling a massage, down his arms, kneading them, helping him relax. And Fiore was indeed more relaxed as he felt DeBlanc's hand in his own, their fingers intertwined, DeBlanc pulled him and kissed the back of Fiore's hand, only the sight of DeBlanc's thick wet cock towering between them overshadowing the sheer romantic vibe of the moment.   
Fiore squeezed DeBlanc's hand for a moment before releasing it to hurry and open the condom, then rolling it down DeBlanc's cock gently, DeBlanc watching him admiringly as he did. Fiore's thighs tensed up and he sat up only to take a deep breath and lower himself down DeBlanc's thick shaft, excruciatingly slowly, DeBlanc was feeling every single fraction of him going inside Fiore, wrapped and squeezed tight in his ready, warm flesh, he couldn't hold back a loud grunt as Fiore lifted himself back up slightly and then sat back down taking all of DeBlanc's length in, sitting all the way down with a sultry moan as DeBlanc's cock went in to press on his sweet spot slowly. DeBlanc couldn't take that torture anymore. He grabbed Fiore's ass and overpowered him, the panting, fevered architect now on his back under DeBlanc, his long legs wrapped around his partner's hips. DeBlanc pushed in, increasing the tempo, going faster and harder, until his balls were slapping against Fiore with every thrust, his dry lips pressed against Fiore's ear, only his hoarse, ragged breathing escaping them, Fiore's moans, on the verge of screams, filling the room. The thick, stone-hard member was massaging and stimulating Fiore's sweet spot persistently, making his sight go black and his toes numb, he wanted to delay the release, but it felt so good, too good.  
Fiore's legs clenched tighter around DeBlanc, his fingers dug into the wide back of the man on top of him, one spastic breath, another and DeBlanc stopped. 

\- Sorry, that was quick, - Fiore exhaled, even before he could recollect; his eyes lowered, he was avoiding DeBlanc's gaze, his golden lashes pointing down blushfully.  
\- It's okay, dear, - DeBlanc's voice seemed even lower and even more velvety than usual. 

He pulled out with a wet squelch and pulled the condom off, plopping it onto the floor softly. Fiore leaned on his elbow, ready to do the walk of shame to the bathroom, when he felt a pair of hands around his hips, holding him in place, seconds before the warm, wet mouth slid down his cock, still half-hard. Fiore arched his back and grabbed DeBlanc's shoulders, the architect couldn't hold back a loud, lingering moan. He'd never really gotten a proper blowjob, most men he'd been with were otherwise ideological on the topic of giving head. Vincent had never went down on him, for instance, so now, being on the receiving end of such an eager caress, DeBlanc's mouth hot and thorough on him, felt ecstatic, so he was hard as ever anew in no time.   
When Fiore opened his eyes, DeBlanc was on top of him again, the heat radiating off his body, Fiore in the epicentrum of it. DeBlanc pressing against him as tightly as he could, pushing Fiore into the mattress, DeBlanc's passionate, yet gentle lips exploring Fiore's skin, tracing weightless kisses along the curve of his shoulder, his neck, his jaw, his temple, Fiore was desperate to return this tenderness, however unable to turn his head enough to reach the other man, so all he had left was just be there and receive it as gratefully as he could. DeBlanc's hand traveled down and between the two men, he took their cocks in his fist, jerking them up and down one rubbing against the other, he was teasing both heads with his thumb, spreading the saliva and cum residue all over, and he came, hard and plenteously with a low grunt. The spasm in DeBlanc's cock, pushed against Fiore's, sent him to the edge again and now, not having to hold back, he let it off, cumming all over DeBlanc's hand.   
Panting still, on his all fours overhanging above Fiore, DeBlanc leaned in and their lips connected in a slow and tender kiss. Fiore inhaled in amusement; he'd never felt DeBlanc's lips so soft before. Out of all the kisses they'd shared, it was certainly his favorite, DeBlanc's mouth was gentle and sweet upon his, them blending into each other like one. So when DeBlanc started to pull away Fiore cupped his face with his palms, desperate for that sensation to linger. Their lips parted, but Fiore stretched up and reached for DeBlanc, driven by the profound desire to taste his lips like that again, he ever so gently touched DeBlanc's upper lip with his mouth soft and relaxed. Both men with their eyes closed, breathing quietly, they both knew it felt right and both knew it would be hell if it ended now. Fiore went on to caress DeBlanc's lower lip, tugging at it with his mouth carefully, he felt the tip of DeBlanc's tongue on the inner part of his own upper lip. Half a moment after their mouths connected fully, they had to part for air, and the bliss passed, and the inevitable need to clean up forced them to pull apart. 

***  
DeBlanc was already downstairs when he emerged from the lump of his sweatshirt; it was back on. He was trying to zip his fly as he heard footsteps down the staircase behind his back. He sighed and turned around, squeezing out a politely charming smile that he could do so well. 

\- So... Yeah. I'll be going, I guess. 

The expression of the sheer absence of understanding dawned upon Fiore's face. DeBlanc even kind of felt like the other man looked rather upset, but it was all around better to push those observations away. 

\- But you can stay? - the invitation sounded more like a question, and it was just that.

Fiore didn't feel like he was entitled to DeBlanc's time or attention, still. But he certainly wanted to be. He touched the bed on his way back from the bathroom and it was still warm, and having it cool back down made Fiore sad, for whatever reason. He wasn't even sure whether the other man (who was still a bit of a stranger really) would want to sleep (as in sleep sleep) with him, but Fiore had to at least keep him in the house to find out. 

\- Yeah, - DeBlanc nodded hesitantly, as though not sure whether he was welcome, - I guess I could stay for the night.  
\- Are you hungry? - Fiore asked in a tone just a tad too exhilarated. His face lit up, but he was struggling to conceal it. DeBlanc couldn't let it pass unnoticed, though, so he half-smiled too.   
\- A little, maybe.   
\- I have wings.   
\- Wings?   
\- Yes, chicken wings, homemade, - "by me", Fiore wanted to add, but held back. "You sound like a literal housewife, you moron", - he thought to himself.   
\- Awesome, - said DeBlanc and made his way towards the kitchen - he (theoretically) knew where it was. 

Going past Fiore and into the kitchen doorway, DeBlanc moved the taller man out of the way carefully, his hand lingering on Fiore's hip for a little longer than rationally required.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonight on The Author Dropping Mad Hints Fiore's An Angel show:  
> \- I have wings. 
> 
> Lol, I hope you guys enjoyed. I'm getting back on track with this thing.


	12. The last of the real ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! It's not a particularly spoopy chapter, but I still wanted to post a little fluffy treat for y'all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I was just an only child of the Universe, and then I found you” (c)

***  
Two abnormally large emojis were staring at Lilith off the grey iMessage bubble. Large, because they were the only thing in that text. A tongue emoji followed by a peach emoji being the only thing that Alex found necessary to reply with to Lilith’s risky message. And she’d waited 17 minutes for Alex to reply. However positive the connotation of the said emojis, Lilith thought it wasn’t enough.   
Suddenly, a typing bubble appeared, and Lilith couldn’t catch her breath now, and her thoughts (that she’d vaguely expressed in her previous text) were racing through her mind anew, in vivid, vivid detail. Before she could think it over or wait long enough to receive another text, Lilith reached down slowly. Her pussy was so wet that it soaked through her cotton underwear. She pulled it down and stuck a finger inside, her eyes shut tight, her imagination wild and unapologetic. 

***  
Fiore had lost track of how many times he had stayed over at DeBlanc’s place that month. Fifteen? Twenty? It was all practical reasoning, though. It was, apparently, closer to the new object that Fiore was working on. Coming home to DeBlanc, late, he didn’t sleep deprive himself with sketching till late a.m., he just let go, had a good rest and could start anew with the new day.   
DeBlanc’s place was bigger than Fiore’s, too. It was a wide, one-storey open-space house with white walls, spacious and monochrome. Fiore grew to love its interior design too, it may had been not as soft as Fiore’s white and blue aesthetic, but he really dug the wedge wood elements, squared sofa and the coffee table, and he was really enjoying the wide, low-set square king bed. Fiore even found himself adding to the interior, bringing a black leather decorative cushion that he’d just randomly saw at Togas, or a cute candle from Zara Home. The abundance of new free space was freeing to the mind too, Fiore found. And they didn’t have to squeeze by, rubbing against one another’s crotch when one needed to exit, and the other to enter, the kitchen, as they had to at Fiore’s place (which he, honestly, didn’t really mind in the first place).  
Also, DeBlanc’s schedule was way busier than Fiore’s. Consulting is a tough sphere, you’re basically just needed when you’re needed, nobody cares about your personal life if there’s an emergency case, so it was way easier for Fiore, with his standardized working hours, to come over to DeBlanc’s place, than vice versa. He could wait for DeBlanc there, and even run some errands for him, or make him a meal if he’d had a long day at work and had forgotten to eat lunch, again. Fiore was actually amazed at how DeBlanc magically hadn’t starved himself to death before they met, because he seemed to constantly forget that food consumption was a must for survival, not just another clause in his to do list that could be at the top of it, or could be prioritized otherwise. Cooking didn’t feel like such a waste of time to Fiore anymore, as it was now a matter of feeding someone he’d appointed himself responsible for. DeBlanc really took care of Fiore in all senses, financially, physically, emotionally, so Fiore saw the chores that he volunteered for as a way to give back. And, admittedly, it made him happy. He felt secure and protected, and thankful, endlessly thankful.   
So, gradually, Fiore found himself feeling the distinctive aroma of his own house, as it was becoming more and more foreign, collecting more and more of his stuff and moving it to DeBlanc’s, and thinking about DeBlanc’s place instead of his own in the “I want to go home” thoughts after a long hard day at work.

***  
Running around the house, DeBlanc was looking for some specific document, not letting Fiore help him look, but talking to him in the process, still.  
\- I’m sorry, dear, they’re just throwing me out there again. Nothing gets done without me, you know, - as DeBlanc was scavenging yet another commode, ruffling the towering piles of folders inside the drawer, Fiore couldn’t really see his face, but could hear the guilt in his voice.  
\- It’s okay, - he said, following DeBlanc to the living room, where he kept on turning the contents of every cabinet upside-down.   
\- I hate to just leave you like that on your day off, but, what can I do.  
\- No, it’s okay, really. 

Fiore was following DeBlanc around the house and leaving an “it’s okay” in every room, until DeBlanc fished a single piece of paper out of the door-side table drawer in the hallway, holding it up victoriously for a moment, to demonstrate that the search is over, before sticking it in his bag quickly. DeBlanc’s shoulders relaxed as he caught his breath for a moment, almost standing on the doorstep already. 

\- I’ll do my best, my dear, I’ll try and be home by four, okay? - DeBlanc grabbed the spare key off the very same door-side table and handed it to Fiore.   
\- Do you want me to close the door after I leave?   
\- I mean, it’s not like I want you to leave. Just in case you need to go somewhere, - DeBlanc sounded unsure, as if he was taken off guard by the question.   
\- Uh, okay then. Where do I put it after? Back on this table?   
\- You don’t really have to put it back?.. - DeBlanc said, even more confused.   
\- As in, I get to keep it? - the realization dawned on Fiore, and now he was the confused one. DeBlanc looked at him bottom-up with fondness and judgement in his eyes. “Yes, you absolute dork” - as interpreted by Fiore. The taller man swallowed hard. “Do I live here now?..” He took the key.  
\- Um, so, four? - he said quickly.   
\- Four, - DeBlanc confirmed. 

Fiore unfroze and jerked towards the kitchen hastily, before stopping for a moment to explain. 

\- I was just making hash browns, let me pack you some to take with you, hang on just a second, okay? 

Before DeBlanc could reply, Fiore was already rushing back to the hallway, a plastic container in his hand. He gave it to DeBlanc, ready for his lover to run off to work, but DeBlanc lingered, their hands locked on the opposite sides of the container. Not really thinking of releasing it, DeBlanc put his other hand on Fiore’s nape and pulled him closer. Their lips connected softly, Fiore could feel a light smile in the corners of the other man’s mouth. 

\- Thank you, - said DeBlanc simply and caressed Fiore’s cheek with his thumb. 

DeBlanc chucked at the dazed half-grin that flourished on his lover’s sleepy face. 

\- Four, - said DeBlanc reassuringly.   
\- Four, - Fiore repeated, as DeBlanc walked out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tetraphobia is the practice of avoiding instances of the number 4. It is a superstition most common in East Asian nations. (Wiki)


	13. We do it in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's so unsettling and hilarious at the same time (c) my best friend

***   
\- No, I- I don’t know, I don’t... Know... - the man screamed desperately, his voice muffled with the black sack that he had over his head sticking to his mouth as he struggled to breathe, all wet from the previous... questioning. 

DeBlanc sighed and got up. He grabbed a jackknife that he had on the metal counter and, without saying a word, in one abrupt motion jabbed it right through the man’s hand strapped to the armchair, the pointed tip left stuck in the wooden armrest. A sharp scream filled the small, dim room. 

\- I’m going to ask you again, - he said calmly... 

Suddenly, the buzzing of his phone interrupted him. DeBlanc picked it up and looked at the incoming call screen. Fiore’s face was looking at him off the phone, his hair ruffled, a relaxed, tender smile on his lips. DeBlanc smiled too. He took this picture when they were in bed on a Saturday morning, and it’s so full of light, just like Fiore is. He swiped to pick up. 

\- Hi dear, - he said, just like he always would. He loved calling Fiore that, DeBlanc felt like it was a way to show how precious Fiore had grown to be in his life. More and more often he found his main concern to be Fiore’s safety and comfort, he knew he would drop anything to make sure Fiore is happy.   
\- Hey, babe, umm I was just wondering... - the word “babe” was a little stiff, but bound to roll off Fiore’s tongue. Pet names were a relatively new concept for him as he’d never really gotten to refer to someone that endearingly, but he embraced the experience, even though he was still admittedly at the stage of trial and error. 

A howl of pain of the bleeding wounded man interrupted the lovely conversation. DeBlanc covered the mic with his hand. 

\- Be quiet, would you? - he hissed at the man.   
\- Please... I have a wife... She needs me, - he pleaded. 

In reply, DeBlanc pushed the handle of the knife sticking out of his palm from side to side, making the hostage let out a short wailing sound and then cut of, out of fear of more sanctions. 

\- ...Sorry, the head of HR just tried to walk in, they’re gonna tear me apart someday... You were saying? Grab some eggs? Mhm... Mhm... Sure... I don’t know, what do you want more? Okay... Okay... So be it salmon, I’ll grab some asparagus too then... Okay... Okay, bye, I’ll try and get home before 8, bye... 

DeBlanc hung up and put his phone aside, his attention shifting back to the whinging man. He walked around the chair to face the blindfolded hostage and squatted in front of him. 

\- Now listen here, okay, - he said softly, - You haven’t seen my face, nor do you know where you are. Also, I’m a tidy queen, - he added with a smirk, - so you can’t really trace back any of my... Tools. There’s nothing you can tell the police. We know there is a code. We know the system can be accessed remotely, ‘cause we’ve seen you do it. All we need is access to the security cameras. What we don’t need, however, is to pay your beautiful wife a visit and motivate you that way, right? So why don’t you just tell me the code, and then we can both be home by dinner, how does that sound?   
\- Okay, fine, I will, - the man was sobbing now. 

DeBlanc stood up straight and went up to the counter behind the man’s back, on which he had a laptop. 

\- Go ahead then.   
\- 1... 7... K... Q... 9...

As the man was adding each character, DeBlanc pressed the respective key and added a polite and casual “mhm”, like a customer service employee. When the man went silent, DeBlanc pressed enter, welcomed with a cheerful ding. Success. 

\- It worked? Will you get me home now? - the man asked, his voice trembling, - I did, I told you... 

DeBlanc’s hand in a black synthetic glove (only noobs use leather gloves) reached for the gun with a long suppressor. The man heard a slight metallic click. He knew something wasn’t right. He wanted to twitch, to dodge, but... 

\- Thanks, - said DeBlanc in a low voice and pulled the trigger.

The man’s body relaxed and sagged down the chair, his head hanging low on his chest. The black sack was drooping down and it revealed short brown hair with a little gray on the back of his head. DeBlanc noted distantly that the man hadn’t had any gray in his hair when he’d brought him in.   
He took his gloves and apron off, starting to clean up. Dispose of the body, call Kali and ask her about her Birthday party dress-code, get milk, napkins, asparagus... What else? There was something important... Eggs! Right, eggs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DeBlanc doesn't yet realize that "safety" doesn't usually do hand in hand with dating a hitman...


End file.
